When It Matters
by The Demon's Song
Summary: Booth had always been there for Temperance before, even when the danger was slight. But can Booth find her now, when it matters most? BB, of course. R&R, please. PARTIAL HIATUS. Updates are rare at best, I'm afraid.
1. The Puzzle

**This is my first ever Bones fic. Please read, but acknowledge the fact that I'm new at this.**

**Oh, and a million thanks to Rissa, my wonderful beta. No, she's not from this site. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure if she is even from this world...**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Bones. But then again, the holiday season is just around the metaphorical corner... sigh. I wish. However, if you don't recognize the name, it's probably one of my characters.**

It wasn't until about nine that she gave up.

The door was solid, a thick steel affair with flaking white paint. It had obviously been painted on to make the room a little more cheerful—laughable, that; this room would never be a cheerful memory for her—some time ago. The peeling paint had been wiped entirely off of deep dents in the metal, stained red as if by blood.

Temperance knew those dents. They were the only familiar part of this whole damned room, the only thing in this alien place that felt like home.

She sank slowly to her knees, turning her hands to display her battered palms. Yes, she knew those dents. She had the bruised hands to show it, the flecks of paint that had deposited themselves in her wounds. They stung, those, but she had not the mind nor the time to think about them.

There was no way out, she realized with a sigh. She was trapped.

Still, no one would ever say Temperance Brennan had gone quietly.

And no one could say she had panicked.

It was not in Temperance's nature to panic. She was calm, logical, and she had Booth.

Booth would come. He always came, found her, saved her, and there was no use panicking. Booth would come, and she had to be ready to help him when he did.

Or defend herself if he didn't.

It was just an if. A shaky little insecure if. Just her thinking about what would happen if he didn't come. If she was trapped, alone and in the dark until they finally found her, a decaying pile of bones just like those she examined so often. If He—whoever he was, for she had never seen his face—came back, and tried to finish her off, and they found her brutally murdered in a cellar because oh god, it was just _too much_...

Temperance dragged in a deep breath and though about Booth.

His infuriating grin, his gut instinct, his protective nature, the way she always knew, now, just how he was feeling, how he was her best friend, her partner, and somehow, always knew exactly what...

Temperance, struck by the last words of her thought, gasped involuntarily.

Because she had thought, really thought for the first time in days, and it was so_ damned obvious_...

"That's it!" She yelled at the empty walls, sounding resounding off the metal. "Oh, god, I know who this is!"

Temperance knew who, but not where or, most infuriatingly, why.

So she breathed as calmly as she could and turned her focus to the room.

"What would Booth do?"

He, Temperance decided, would reason it out. He would look at was was there, and what wasn't there, and connect the dots.

She sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair impatiently. She had never been good at detective work. Only bones. Bones were understandable—they would always reveal the truth, if looked at correctly. But rooms, people... Temperance was hardly expert in those fields.

"It's okay," she told herself shakily. "This is just another case. You are in your lab, trying to identify a murder victim with the others, and you just need to look."

Temperance scanned the room carefully.

There was a crack, a fracture, along the back wall: most likely broken by stress, but possibly just normal wear and tear. The floor was smooth, recently oiled or polished. And there was some sort of dirt in the corner...

A thin smile reached her pale lips. Hodgins hated the word dirt. He would identify it, and then come up with some scientific reason why they had to be wherever they were—like during their run-in with the Grave Digger.

But Temperance didn't have Hodgins with her, much as she wished she did. She was alone: no Zack, no Angela, and no Booth.

It was, she guessed, probably under ground, and probably in a quiet area. The walls were at least a few feet thick, to stop any screams... and that much spare room didn't just sit around.

"So," Temperance said, "it was probably commercial once, but privately owned now. We have our suspects, and Booth will check them out... he'll find this room, and he'll come busting in."

_But why? _ Temperance thought, intertwining her fingers nervously. _Why bother with me? The case? Or is it something else?_

Temperance sighed again, untangling her hands carefully. _I shouldn't bother with why. Just how they'll find me.__How they will find out about Him._

The problem, Temperance realized, was that Zack might not find out in time. Hell, she was tied up in the middle of it all, and she had hardly realized...

Booth, of course, had the gut instinct necessary to make the call, and Zack was smart enough, but the two of them needed to work together, and that...

Was never going to happen.

Temperance sighed, falling to the ground. Her head came to rest against the cool metal, and she sighed quietly.

"Booth..."

She had some things she had yet to say, and she was not going to die without telling him...

Temperance slumped, trying not to think of death.

And to think, just a few weeks ago she had had no idea...

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoThree months previously OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Temperance Brennan let her eyes revolve around the court room.

It had been an easy one, this case: tons of evidence and no other real suspect. The murderer would be convicted, and she would be able to leave the box she had to fill as an expert witness.

Temperance's gaze returned to Caroline's. The prosecutor was smiling—always a good sign—and a faint tinge of a laugh colored her voice as she asked, "So, Doctor Brennan, what exactly are you saying?"

Brennan smirked a little. This case was ending rather more neatly than others had.

"I am saying that given the evidence—DNA, time of death, angle of the knife's entry, and the particulates found on the victim's cranium—no one one but Mark Evans could have been the murderer."

Caroline took a step towards her, straightening her suit-jacket. "And you are sure, Dr. Brennan, that this evidence is conclusive?"

"Of course." Temperance allowed herself a rare moment to be smug.

Caroline smiled fully, with the sort of aura about her that cats have after catching a mouse. "The prosecution rests its case."

Temperance vacated the box, stepping down to the seats occupied by her friends.

"Good job, sweetie." Angela muttered, grinning.

Brennan returned the grin, moving to an empty seat.

And there he was—Booth. Sitting next to her with a distinct air of satisfaction, he said teasingly, "You spoke English, Bones."

"I always speak English, Booth."

"Well, yes, technically, but usually there is a fair bit of Latin mixed in. I understood you today, mostly."

"Is that a bad thing? Caroline says I should be personable, agreeable to the jury as well as scientific. I can preserve the facts and still speak 'English.'"

"Touchy, touchy. It's not a bad thing, Bones."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"Because I thought I might keel over in shock. You know how it is—in a choice between 'Bones speaks English' and 'Bones is abducted and replaced by aliens,' it might well be aliens."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny."

Zack spun around to face his companions. "Do you mind? I'm trying to analyze the human psyche by noting their reactions to the ending speeches and the final verdict."

"That's great," Booth said with an odd glance at Zack, "but, uh, why?"

"Because Angela said I should try to understand people. Both conscious and sub-conscious reactions are a definite part of people."

Zack rotated once more in his chair, facing the jury.

Booth turned as well, growing silent after muttering something that sounded much like, "squints."

Temperance returned her focus to the judge, who was concluding his summing-up of the case. "And now, court is adjourned," the judge said with an air of finality.

Temperance stood slowly, stretching a little.

Booth rolled his eyes, tugging her arm so she stepped falteringly behind him. "Come on, Bones. I skipped breakfast for this, and I think I hear a bagel and a cup of coffee calling my name."

Temperance followed. "Now why is it," she asked as she was tugged along, "that you remind me of a two-year-old?"

"Coffee now, insults later."

And so it was that Temperance Brennan ended up alone in a lobby while her partner went off in search of that sacred caffeinated drink.

_Oh, well this is fun. I'll just sit here and twiddle my fingers, apparently, because I know Booth will throw a fit should I leave this spot..._

A hand tapped her shoulder, and Temperance spun wildly...

Only to come face to face with a bemused looking man.

He was handsome, Temperance decided as she careened to a stop. Dark brown hair, green eyes and tanned skin, laugh lines: the kind of man Temperance should have liked to look dignified in front of. Which, she realized mere moments later, she had failed at, brilliantly.

"That was rather impressive, Dr. Brennan. I rather liked the part with the flailing arms: it loosely resembled a dying goldfish."

"Oh, sorry." She cocked her head slightly, then said, "I'm sorry once again, but you seem to know my name... do I know you?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No. I was on the jury, and when they introduced you as an anthropologist, I figured I would say hi. I'm somewhat of an anthropologist myself: strictly amateur, of course. My name is Robert De Fole."

He extended a hand, which she shook. "Right, well, you already know my name." She paused. "Will we get in trouble for talking? I mean, I'm an expert witness and you are on the jury..."

"Oh, I wouldn't think so. The verdict is probably in by now, and I don't think they would care much. Although, if it's all right with you, I wanted to see if you approved of a theory I've had for some time now."

"Well, it would help if I knew what the theory was, of course."

Robert's face lit up with a half-smile, and Temperance suddenly realized that breathing was, after all, quite important, and it would help if she could remember how to do it...

"Good. Well, I just thought... in anthropological terms, any one group of people living within the vicinity of..."

His sentence was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

Robert winced, then grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, but I've probably got to take this..."

Temperance smiled vaguely, waving him away. "You go." Robert nodded and began to pace away impatiently, leaving her behind.

Temperance sighed and turned towards the court room's door.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the silence that had formed.

"Bones!" someone shouted.

Temperance didn't even have to turn to know it was Booth. What did make her turn, however, was the sharp intake of breath directly behind her.

She twirled, for the second time in about as many minutes: but only Robert De Fole stood there, walking away with his fist clenched tightly at his side.

That was all the time she had for observation, however, because Booth was next to her, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

Temperance jumped, slightly. There had been something odd about the tension of those past few seconds.

"Wow, Bones. Relax. I come bringing coffee."

Temperance took the cup and sipped at it, burning her tongue. "I'm sorry, Booth. I feel really strange today, a bit too jumpy."

Booth smirked at her, looking—as always, though Temperance hated to admit it—extremely handsome. "Bones, you're standing in an empty hallway jumping at a friendly greeting. That's a little more than jumpy in my book."

"But I was waiting..." _because I thought you would yell at me,_Temperance finished silently.

"For me? Jeez, Bones, you could have moved. Now come on: the verdict should be in and I want to see the weasel sentenced."

Temperance sighed, allowing herself to be dragged along.

_This is going to be a very long week._

If only she had known _how_ long...

**So, what do you think? Reviews are welcome, of course, but be kind.**

**Now we've met the first piece of the puzzle: Robert De Fole. I will slowly introduce you to the others...**

**Okay, thanks again to Rissa and anyone who reviews. I love you all!!!**

**No Flames!!!**


	2. Scrambling the Pieces

**Hello again, dear reviewers!!! It's Song, here with the newest chapter!**

**Oh, and by the way, it is still three months before Brennan is kidnapped. Basically the whole story is going to be working up to that moment in time.**

**Disclaimer: From here on out, a random phrase will fill this spot. Example:**

**I don't own Bones, but I do believe in faeries (clap, people, clap!)**

_Temperance sat alone in the room, cradling her knees with her shaking hands._

_She was afraid, terribly afraid: there was a door in the room. And behind it..._

_The Thing. It had no name. It needed no name. It was the Thing, and nothing more. The horrible, hurting, deadly thing._

_It had forgotten she was here. That was how long she had been in the room. It had been years since she had seen daylight, years._

_And she sat, watching the door, because it couldn't open. When it opened, she would be dead._

_There was a name, lingering on her tongue, a name she could hardly remember. She had to remember. It was her only hope._

_B. Yes, it had started with a B. B for be and bee and being. B for biased and Brennan—now, who was named Brennan again?--and B for beautiful and brains and bones._

_O. That had probably been next. O for octopus and orange and opal._

_And another O—now that was a silly choice for a name. Double o, like the Oreos with double filling..._

_T. T for that, and time and Temperance—had she known a Temperance, before?— and T for tale and tall and traitor. T for Thing._

_H, that was it, H. H for hot and humid and horrible. H for hurtful._

_Put it all together..._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Booth!"

Temperance jerked upright, calling his name, because she was locked in and dying and...

Lying on her office's couch, calling out her partner's name. _Oh, won't it be fun to explain this away. Oh, yeah, Booth, I called your name because I had this dream and you were in it. What was it about? Just me, being locked up and losing my mind..._

And, sure enough, Booth appeared in her doorway, looking at her. "Present and accounted for. What do you need?"

"It's nothing. I was sleeping, and I had this weird dream..."

"And you woke up calling my name. A natural reaction, seeing as how strong and, er, manly I am." He winced at his own words, then looked at her. "Sorry for the cliché."

"It's okay. Really, I understand you wanting to make me laugh myself to death."

"No, Bones, I don't want you laughing to death. Besides, I don't even think you can laugh to death."

"Actually, you can," she said smartly, sitting up with a yawn. "There is a disease sometimes contracted by cannibals, called Kuru. You laugh yourself to death."

Booth sighed, wrapping a hand around his forehead. "That, Bones, I did not need to know. Ugh. Thanks for giving me that lovely image, right when I'm about to eat."

Temperance stood and turned to him. "You have food?" Her empty stomach protested at the word.

Booth looked at her disbelievingly. "You haven't eaten all day, have you?"

"Well, we had to go to court, and then I was trying to verify the history of some remains..," Temperance said defensively.

"Yes, I have food. Thai, actually. But Angela made me promise not to give it to you unless you leave the lab."

"But I have two skeletons waiting still from the museum, and then I've a chapter of my book to write..."

"Bones, it's around nine. Go home, read a book, and write something gruesome, by all means. Just go home."

Temperance nodded, walking to the door and grabbing her coat. "Can I drive?"

Booth fought a smile, following her.

"No way, Bones. No way."

They walked to the car, teasing and nagging and being, overall, very relaxed.

But just across the street, in the seventh floor window, relaxation was not a priority.

A pair of sharp eyes followed the two. _Look at them. Happy. Well, it won't last long. Tomorrow, I think, will be the start of it. Yes, tomorrow._

The eyes left the window, turning out the light.

Because the eyes had things to do.

It was time to go commit a murder.

o0o0o0o0o0

Temperance lifted the chop sticks, waving them at Booth.

"So there we were, stranded in the middle of nowhere with our guide gone and with nothing but the clothes on our backs. It's a hot day and Harry's been sitting in the sun too long, and all of a sudden he starts yelling, 'the lizards! The lizards!' And then, god only knows how, he starts running off at random and we end up at an oasis. Now, to this day, I've really now idea how Harry found it, and he was completely out of it, but it happened. I've still had odd dreams about it."

Booth laughed slightly, grabbing the noodles from her hand.

"Hey!"

"Grabbers keepers."

"Cheater!"

Booth laughed again, holding the noodles out of reach. "Honestly, Bones, I'd never pegged you as one to have odd dreams."

Temperance stopped laughing. "Oh, I've odd dreams all right."

Booth looked at her, laughter dying in his throat. "That bad, huh?"

Temperance nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the table. "Yeah... I've had this recurring one lately; that's why I've been so jumpy. I'm alone, in a dark room, locked up. There's someone, something, behind the door, and it scares me...," she trailed off.

"That's not the end of it, though, is it?"

Temperance didn't want to say, but it was Booth... the words rushed out. "What would I do, Booth? How would I cope if I was locked up?"

Temperance let her eyes slide away from the table, resting them on more neutral territory: the clock. Neon letters pronounced that it was one in the morning. _Booth stayed the night... _the words thrilled her, somehow.

And then the numbers blurred. _Tears? _She reached a hand to her face, and there it was, a single traitor of a tear. _I will not cry..._

"Hey." Booth's voice was soft, kind. "You don't need to worry. For one, let's remember that you aren't locked up. And for another... I'd find you, Temperance." Her name sounded strange. She had always been Bones to Booth, and though she insisted on Temperance, the nickname gave her courage.

She couldn't see Booth's face, but she felt his hand on hers. "Look up."

His hand cupped her chin, and he raised her face up to look at him. "I promise you, Bones, that I would find you. I would save you." There was a strange fire in his eyes, and Temperance felt reassured, but something more too...

For just a moment, she thought he would kiss her.

Her heart raced, because she wasn't sure, yet. They were partners, partners, best friends, but ultimately partners, and partners didn't kiss...

But then Booth's phone rang, and the moment was over.

He sat back with a sigh, pulling out the piece of metal.

"Booth."

A grave look crossed his face, and he sighed. "Right, I'll come. No, it won't be hard to find her. She... yes, sir, I know she's awake. Why? She's Bones, sir: she isn't capable of sleep."

Brennan kicked him playfully, and he mock-stumbled.

"Yes. Be right there."

He hung up, walking to the coat rack. He pulled off his jacket, and tossed her hers.

"Come on, Bones. There's been a murder."

**Okay, here's chapter two. **

**Again, millions of thanks to Rissa, my awesome beta. **

**The story really begins next chapter...**

**Please, No Flames!!!**


	3. The First Pieces

**Hello! It's Song.**

**It's Halloween again—ah, All Hallows Eve—and it is the first year that I haven't trick-or-treated. Sigh... I'm feeling awfully nostalgic for no particular reason.**

**Well, I know this chapter took longer than usual, but I wanted to make it long... and I did. My longest chapter ever.** **Plus I had to wait for my beta to stop trick-or-treating—I still love you, though, Rissa.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Bones characters. I just take them off the shelves and play with them once in a while. Don't worry: I put them back just like I found them.**

The hall was dark.

Temperance shivered, increasing her pace.

It wasn't even a tolerable sort of dark. It was crowding dark, all consuming. Temperance knew somehow that one slip in this place and it would eat her alive...

As, apparently, it had already done to someone else.

She moved towards the heavy metal door, heart thudding louder with each step.

If Booth hadn't been behind her...

Ignorant of his partner's discomfort, Booth was pulling his gun out of its holster. It had been an anonymous call that had sent them to this place, and Booth was not going to take any chances while Bones stood in front of him.

A few feet away from the door, Booth motioned that she should stop.

There was a wire, hanging lazily across the door. It looked out of place in the old building: a cheerful blue string amongst an army of expressionless gray.

And dangling from a loop on that string was a bag.

Booth gestured her back, taking one more step towards the door. The bag was not attached to anything behind the door, just taped to the steel with ordinary duct tape. Still, Booth double checked everything before lifting it carefully off the door.

He handed it to Temperance cautiously. "What do you make of that?"

Blood coated the bag, hiding its contents, but Temperance opened it, pulling on a glove. "It looks like blood and," she paused, examining the bag. "Well, at a guess... puzzle pieces."

"Puzzle pieces?" Booth asked. "Why the hell are there puzzle pieces?"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken," Temperance interjected quietly, "but isn't that your part of the job?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "The question was rhetorical, Bones."

Temperance shrugged. "I knew that."

"Right, Bones, right." Booth waited for her to register the sarcasm, then shuffled her out of the way.

"What is the deal with this door?" he asked. "There's no lock, or at least, no lock now. So why bother with such a thick door?"

"Well, I'll pretend I know why you would want to make deals with a door, and move on to the more pressing issue of the lock. Maybe... now that the crime is over, the criminal wants us to find the body."

"Bones, criminals usually try to hide bodies. You know, keep it a secret."

"Only if they're sane," Temperance said reasonably.

Booth groaned. "Insane criminals and puzzle pieces... why not?"

Temperance looked at the door, her expression shifting. A look of confusion colored her face.

"What, Bones?"

Temperance gestured at the hallway. "Well, look where we are. The sixth floor of an abandoned industrial building with no windows. It's two in the morning. So... who would have been around to make an anonymous call?"

A second groan came from Booth's mouth. "Good point, Bones. That means that we either had the murderer or someone involved in the crime calling us, and we missed them..."

The grim realization of fact settled over them both.

"What if they realized," Temperance said quietly, "that we would know? What if they thought we would rush in first thing afterwards?"

"Then this could potentially be a trap." Booth cursed, snapping open his cell phone. "Don't go near the door, Bones."

He glanced at the machine's screen, then cursed again. "No reception. I've got to go outside, Bones. You stay here, okay?"

Temperance nodded, and Booth began to jog away, down the long corridor.

And then she was alone, in the dark. Every shadow seemed monstrous, every rustle or creak someone come to kill her and leave behind a bag of puzzle pieces...

"Don't be nervous," she chided herself, grateful for the sound of a human voice, even her own. "You're behaving like a child. Relax."

But a feverish urgency overtook her, and she felt, somehow, that she was not alone in the hallway...

Temperance pressed her forehead to the cool steel of the wall, hoping to calm herself.

But it was two in the morning, and the cold metal felt so good...

She slept...

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Temperance was in a park on a sunny summer day. _

_She smiled, watching the children play. It was a beautiful day, gorgeous weather. _

_A middle-aged woman sat on the bench next to Temperance, smiling. "Wonderful day, right?"_

_"Perfect," Temperance agreed happily. A warm breeze filled the air, and the children laughed as their toys began to blow away._

_"But you've no time to admire the weather, right? You've got somewhere to go, yes? Some charming fellow to find?"_

_"Booth. My partner. He needs me for a case." Temperance looked at the park, confused. She turned her head a bit to the side. "In fact, I've really no idea how I got here."_

_"Oh, but that doesn't matter," the friendly woman said with a small laugh._

_"Really?" _

_"Oh, yes. It doesn't matter how you get here, just that you're here now. Because you'll never leave."_

_Temperance looked in shock at the woman. "What? Why?"_

_The woman turned to her. "Because I won't let you."_

_And suddenly the woman's eyes were huge, leering, magnified, and Temperance knew who had been watching her..._

_"That's right, my dear." The woman's kind features began to shift, until she was no longer man nor woman nor animal in her entirety but rather some horrid mix of all three..._

_The park disappeared, and suddenly they were in a locked room._

_"You will never leave..." said the Eyes, and a knife rose in front of Temperance's face. "Never."_

_Bones..._

_Bones..._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Bones!"

Temperance's eyes flew open, and she looked up, panting, into the eyes of Agent Seeley Booth.

"Booth," she exhaled, sitting up. "Good thing you came."

Booth looked at her oddly. "Okay... why were you lying on the floor sleeping? And why were you screaming in your sleep?"

"I was tired... and I'll tell you later." Temperance yawned, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About three, Bones."

"Okay. Is the room safe?"

"I don't know... back-up isn't in yet."

Temperance collected herself, shaking the remnants of sleep away. "Well, I'd say good morning, but this is probably not going to be a good morning. Or day, for that matter."

"True." Booth looked at her seriously. "Did you have another one of those dreams?"

"Yes... and no. It started off lovely..."

And suddenly the sound of men walking down a steel hallway entered her ears, interrupting her.

"Is that the back-up?"

Booth aimed his gun at the top of the stairs, stepping deliberately in front of Booth. "I guess we'll see."

Temperance rolled her eyes, stepping up next to him. "The melodrama isn't necessary, Booth." She reached into her jacket, removing a large gun. "It's not like you're the only one with a gun."

"Against my better judgment." Booth sighed at her glare, then said, "Fine. Hold the damn gun. Just don't shoot me again, okay?"

"It bounced off my bracelet," Temperance said, remembering the case quite clearly.

"Yeah, well, just don't, okay? And keep quiet, unless you want whoever this is to hear us."

Temperance sighed, pointing her gun at the stairs as well.

The noise stopped.

"Are they gone?" Temperance whispered.

"I'll check." Booth stepped, somehow managing to end up face first on the floor. A loud metallic ring issued from the surface.

"Now, what was that about being quiet?" Temperance hissed sarcastically.

"I tripped, Bones, it happens."

"Not to my officers, Agent Booth."

Standing at the top of the stairs was Booth's boss, Cullen, flanked by six well-armed men. The back-up had arrived.

Booth winced. "Right, sir. The room is right this way."

The men walked past Booth as he pulled himself up.

"Here?" One of the men asked, pointing his gun at the door.

Booth grimaced. "Yeah. That door."

They cracked the door open, pushing in the front of a gun. One... two...

"It's safe."

Booth walked in first, closely followed by Temperance.

A gasp passed through her lips, but when Booth spun to face her she smiled sheepishly. "It's nothing," she assured him.

The room was empty of all but a body.

In the center of the room sat a burnt corpse, seemingly beyond identification.

Temperance smiled. This was where she shone.

She paced to the body, kneeling over it. "Female, Caucasian, early to mid-thirties. All the flesh has been burnt off, probably post-mortem. Murder weapon and time of death are unidentifiable."

Booth looked at her. "But you're sure this is a murder?"

"Absolutely."

Booth sighed, then turned to the men. "Okay. You two, she'll want this transported to the Jeffersonian. Get on with it, and for god's sake, do not touch the body."

They nodded, and began packing up the remains.

"You three, search the area for any sign of a hiding place—just in case whoever did this is still here." Booth said, still giving orders.

Booth turned to his boss.

"I," Cullen announced, "am going to stand outside and drink my coffee. It's too damn early for a murder."

"Right, sir."

Everyone exited the room but Booth and Temperance.

"So that's it, huh? No scientific explanation as to why it's a murder, no squint speak?"

"Of course not. Unless you want a lecture, of course."

"No, no, no, not necessary. It's just that you're functioning like a normal person. Before you met me, your name was in the dictionary under 'abnormal.'"

"You must have been a bad influence," Temperance said lightly, looking over the room for any sign of a clue.

"I'm starting to think so," Booth said, walking up behind her.

"Be careful not to trip!" Cullen yelled from outside.

Booth shook his head, hanging it in his hands. "Oh, I'm never going to live that down."

Temperance started to answer, then stopped.

"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked. She silenced him furiously.

"Listen."

Tick... tick... tick...

Booth's eyes revolved, focusing on the source of the ticking.

Under a pile of dirt in the corner, a red light was flashing.

A single drop of sweat rolled down Booth's cheek...

And then he was running, dragging Temperance along behind him.

Tick... tick... tick...

They pounded through the room, blowing past the door.

Booth spun furiously, slamming it shut.

Tick... tick...

And then an explosion rocketed through the floor, knocking them all the their knees.

The door, however, took the worst of the battering, creaking furiously as its hinges tried to hold on.

Booth thought, as he rode out the shock, that he was thankful, so thankful. Without that door, they all would have been dead.

_But_, he thought, _it's not over yet._

The chaos continued for a few more seconds, seconds that seemed eternal to Booth and Temperance alike.

And then there was silence.

Five seconds...

Ten...

Twenty...

Booth sat up on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well," he said shakily, "I'm pretty sure you were right, Bones. This isn't going to be a good day."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance entered her lab to find the cadaver waiting for her, placed on her exam table.

"Finally," Temperance said, tugging on a lab coat. It was noon, and she was glad to be out of the field, and not only for the obvious reasons...

She approached the body, waiting for Zack.

He was at the table in an instant. "Dr. Brennan. We've been waiting for you."

Temperance nodded vaguely, leaning over the bones. "There's a bit too much flesh here for me to really do anything. Ask Cam if she needs it, and Hodgins too. But then remove the flesh." Temperance thought for a minute, then said, "Give the skull to Angela when you're done, let her work her magic."

Zack nodded, then began to walk away.

Temperance snapped back off the gloves, walking to her office. She hadn't really slept for about thirty-six hours—her dozes in the field and her office excluded—and her couch beckoned.

She pushed open the glass door, collapsing on her couch.

It had been her intention to sleep without dreaming.

But intention isn't enough, is it?

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Temperance stood next to a waterfall. _

_She wasn't alone. Robert De Fole stood next to her, smiling._

_They had been talking, laughing._

_The day was beautiful, and he was handsome._

_Temperance suddenly felt an overwhelming need to kiss him._

_She leaned in, pressed her lips to his..._

_And was pushed back._

_It was Booth's face looking at her, scornful and disgusted. "No more than partners, remember?"_

_He was walking away, leaving her, and Temperance could hardly say a word..._

_And then she couldn't say anything at all, because she was bound and gagged._

_She hit the door with her fists, with all her strength..._

_But she was alone._

_All alone._

_Forever._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance woke up suddenly, jolting upright. Her head smacked violently into someone else's.

"Ow!" said a familiar voice.

"Sorry, Booth." Temperance said, rubbing her head. She turned to face him.

He smiled at her slightly, hand pressed to his forehead. "Jeez, Bones. I've described you as hard-headed before, but I really had no idea how literal it was."

Booth had pulled a chair over to the couch, sitting next to her as she slept.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What were you doing exactly?"

"Sleeping. I came in to check on you, and you were sleeping. I sort of passed out the second I sat down."

"Sorry I woke you." Temperance said quietly. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About five hours. Also, though... why did you gasp today, walking into the crime scene?"

"It... the room looks just like the one I've been dreaming about. I... panicked a bit."

Booth sighed, leaning in. His forehead came to rest on hers. "Bones, Bones, Bones," Booth said. "What am I going to do with you?"

Temperance was aware that the boundaries had been breached, that this was a Bad Distance to be at, but it didn't bother her that much...

Still, dream-Booth's words hung in her mind. "_No more than partners, remember?"_

Sighing, she pulled back, causing Booth to nearly topple into her lap.

"What's the matter?" he asked, catching himself.

"Nothing. I'm just... just tired."

Booth nodded, then asked, "One more question?"

"Sure."

"What does the name Melanie mean to you?"

Temperance frowned. "Nothing. Well, there was a girl in my elementary school named Melanie, but that was years and years ago." The frown deepened. "Why?"

"Because," Booth said, "I woke up for a while... and you were saying it over and over it your sleep."

"What... why would I say that name, of all names?"

"You realize your answer will involve psychology, right?"

Temperance shot him a glare, and he put his hands up in surrender. "Look... talk to Angela about this one. It's beyond me."

"Talk to Angela about what?"

Temperance spun to see her best friend standing in the doorway. "Hi, Ange."

"Hi, sweetie." Angela's eyes scanned the room, and she smiled slyly. "Look, am I interrupting something? 'Cause I can come back."

Booth sat up straight, pulling away from Temperance.

"No," Temperance answered. "Nothing going on here—unless, that is, you have something interesting."

"I, sweetie, have a face and a name."

Temperance smiled at her friend. "That fast, Angela?"

Angela shrugged. "What can I say: I'm a miracle worker."

"True," Booth said, standing. 'What have you got for us?"

"Well, she's thirty-two. She had auburn hair—a lot like yours, sweetie—and she's been missing for under a day."

Booth whistled. "That seems like a small amount of time compared to what we usually cover."

"It is, Booth." Angela smiled. "But doesn't that make things easier?"

"Maybe."

"Sorry to interrupt," Temperance interjected, "but what exactly is the victim's name?"

"Oh, right." Angela paused, consulting her paper. "It says here her name is... Melanie."

"Melanie?" Booth spluttered.

"Yeah." Angela nodded, handing him the sheet.

He looked down, then nodded.

"It is Melanie, Bones. Melanie Crow."

**Teehee, evil little authoress. **

**Well, I'll leave you with that, and the next chapter will be up soon—hopefully. **

**No Flames!!!**


	4. Trying to Match

**'K, here is the newest chapter.**

**Before I start, I have special thanks for some reviewers—Bellabun, DOC3, TemperTemper, For Romance, beaglelvr93, and dancingpiggy. You've all reviewed every chapter so far, and your positive feedback is really motivating :).**

**Thanks again, and enjoy!!!**

**Disclaimer: I now own Bones!!! Yay!!! (Rolls over in bed, wakes up). Damn.**

It was two in the morning, and Temperance couldn't sleep.

She knew even as she tossed and turned what was denying her her rest. But to sleep, she would have to confront it, and she was definitely not planning on that.

Temperance sighed, rolling once more. Her clock ticked, ever so gently in the silence.

_Just like the bomb ticked_, she thought idly. It only took her a few moments to realize it had been a bad topic of thought.

Had she not recognized this fact already, she would have a moment later when her brain flicked the "play all" button on her memories of the past day. It was funny really: one moment her mind was peaceful, and the next it had transitioned to a writhing mass of thoughts.

Temperance gave one last futile attempt to deny reality, then gave in and faced it.

_What the hell is going on here? A booby-trapped body, puzzle pieces..._

_Okay, Temperance, calm down. Think logically—one step at a time._

_Who is the ultimate question. Who did this to Melanie? Who sent me and Booth out on a case that we should have had nothing to do with? Who made that call? Who knew about Melanie in the first place?_

_Why. Why would someone want to hurt Melanie? Why did they put the bomb in that room—to kill more innocents, or because they knew Booth and I were coming? Why were we placed on a case that has no relevance to the FBI in the first place?_

_What. What the hell is going on? What were those puzzle pieces doing there? What do they mean? What was Melanie doing in town anyway?_

_And how. How was Melanie killed? How did we end up on this case? _

_It all revolves around three things—the puzzle, Melanie, and the case._

_The puzzle. Well, it could symbolize the puzzle of Melanie's death. It could be a challenge, to solve the puzzle and find the criminal. It could be a false clue to lead us off course. It could be a killer's signature—his mark on the case. We should see if they match—all one puzzle—or if they're pieces from different puzzles._

_Melanie. The woman I described as "some girl in elementary school." How long until the others realize that isn't true—that I knew Mel? Why was she, of all people, killed? And why was I placed on this case? Is the killer taunting me with my past—the past I'd much rather not have tugged back into the light? The time I spent with Melanie is over—isn't that enough?  
_

_ And the case. Either this is one hell of a coincidence or our killer has friends in high places. Police get a call, most of the time no one listens. But someone listened to this. And even then, they don't usually send the FBI before the police—but Booth and I were sent in none the less._

_It's too damn confusing. Why me? Why the hell am I involved?_

Temperance sighed. That part she could answer.

_Melanie. I can't leave this case because of Melanie._

She rolled once more. Two oh five, the clock said.

_Melanie..._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Temperance was fifteen again, leaning on the hood of a car._

_It was Cole's car, she knew. Cole's old beater of a car that he had fought with for days to make sure it would get them out here and back._

_But, Temperance mused lazily, they might not be going back. Mel was certainly not in favor of that idea._

_"Hey."_

_Cole was behind her, and he reached out a hand. "What're you still doing here, Tempe? Mel is on the beach."_

_The beach. Lovely place, free of parents._

_"Coming." She took his hand, and they wandered to the beach._

_Melanie was there, sitting on a towel. "Hey, love birds." She smiled, waving. "Come join me. I've made sandwiches."_

_Cole rolled his eyes, sitting next to her. "I am not going out with Temperance—no offense, Tempe. So drop it. And hand me a sandwich while you're at it."_

_"I second that motion." Temperance sat next to him, taking the bread. She took a bite, then smiled. "God, Melanie, even your sandwiches are perfect."_

_Melanie laughed, tossing her auburn hair. "Well, what can I say. Just because I'm going to be a pathologist doesn't mean I can't cook."_

_"And that is definitely true," Cole said, ruffling her hair. "God, how was I lucky enough to get a sister like you?"_

_"You mean a sister so gorgeous and talented she makes you look good?"_

_"No," Cole teased, "I mean a sister who makes food good enough that I can forget how annoying she is."_

_Melanie raised a hand to her forehead dramatically. "Oh, my life is over. My brother has called me annoying! Whatever shall I do?" Her eyes narrowed. "I know..."_

_She splashed him with sand, giggling. _

_"Hey!" Cole protested, then splashed her right back._

_Within a minute, all three of them were hurling sand and water at each other, laughing hysterically as they did._

_Eventually they ran out of energy and collapsed, still laughing, onto the towel._

_"Hey," Temperance said, lifting her water bottle. "I've got a toast."_

_Cole shook his head. "You're not supposed to toast with water. Hang on."_

_He stood, walking back to the car._

_A minute later, he had returned with a cooler full of alcohol and glasses. _

_Melanie raised her eyebrows. "Where did you get that, O Brother Mine?"_

_Cole grinned slyly, sitting back down. "Our parents don't exactly lock the fridge, you know."  
_

_Temperance smiled. "Juvenile delinquent."_

_"Brainiac."_

_Melanie laughed, joining in. "Deviant."_

_"Nerd."_

_"Dork."_

_"Dweeb."_

_"Loser."_

_"Chauvinist pig."_

_Cole laughed, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. "Fine, fine, I give. You're tag-teaming me." He uncorked a bottle of wine and filled three glasses._

_"Pretty much."_

_Melanie and Temperance took their glasses, raising them up._

_"Okay," Temperance said. "Here's to Russ, who was man enough to stay behind and cover for us."_

_Cole knocked his glass against hers. "To Russ, the poor bastard."_

_They drank, then refilled their glasses._

_Melanie raised hers. "To life without parents."_

_Temperance smiled, pushing her glass into Melanie's. "To life without parents," she echoed._

_Once they had finished, they sat, watching the water._

_Cole lit a cigarette, taking a drag off of it. "So," he said calmly, exhaling the smoke. "Do we stay or go?"_

_"I say go." Melanie smiled, spreading her arms. "I mean, we have food, we have drinks—both alcoholic and non-alcoholic—and we have each other. We don't need much beyond that."_

_"I say stay." Temperance looked at Melanie. "Poor Russ, left behind. Not to mention that we're not all sixteen yet. Legally, we have to continue our schooling."_

_"Who said we would stop? I say we travel to New York and visit our Aunt. Aunt Becca, Cole, dad's little sister, so you can drop that bewildered look. She's a lawyer: plenty of cash sitting around. She's thirty-two, but not married, and she has no kids. We saw her last year... but dad and Becca had a falling out when we were two. They don't really talk anymore. She'll take us in."_

_Cole nodded. "She'd hire a tutor for us... and she always loved you, Mel. It could work."_

_Temperance looked worried. "Wouldn't she send us back?"_

_"No. Aunt Becca broke the mold in her family: first girl to go to college. If we pull a sob story about being too constricted, wanting to expand our horizons... she'll take care of us. Plus she hates dad, and we can use that to our advantage."_

_"True... but how long would she let us stay?"_

_"We only need two years, Tempe. Then Cole and I are eighteen: legally free of our parents. We could be your guardians. College should be easy because our families have trust funds and savings accounts... we'll do just fine."_

_Temperance placed her hands on her hips. "I still say no. Cole, what's your opinion?"_

_Cole thought a bit, then answered slowly. "I think we should go. I mean, yes, Russ will be left behind. But you know we don't need to make up stories, Tempe. Dad still thinks Mel shouldn't go to college... and he insists that I be an accountant. But Mel wants to be a pathologist, and I... I want to be a doctor as well. I know it's the same with you: your parents are so overprotective, it hurts. They don't let you stay out past eight, and I'm surprised they let you cross the street alone. You know we can't get anywhere in life while they're suffocating us."_

_Cole paused, then smiled. "And I have you guys. I don't need anything else."_

_"That's sweet, Cole. And you guys are family to me. I couldn't live without either of you. Melanie, you are like a sister to me. And Cole..."_

_"I'm the retarded half-brother no one likes to mention? Or do I get a clichéd metaphor as well?"_

_Temperance smacked him gently, then continued. "No, Cole... I don't know quite what you are."_

_"How about the boyfriend?"_

_Temperance blinked once. Twice. "Did you just ask me out?"_

_Cole smirked at her. "Yes, but I'd expected a bit more... oh, I don't know... romantic answer."_

_"Well, I want to go out with you, and I love you. Is that sufficiently romantic?"_

_"I get the gist," Cole teased, kissing her._

_Melanie whistled. "Took you two long enough. You've only known each other since you were two."_

_Temperance pulled back, grabbing Cole's hand. She leaned on him, smiling._

_"I've changed my mind. We go."_

_"We go."_

_"We go."_

_Melanie sat up suddenly, smiling. "Cole, lend me your pocket knife." _

_He tossed it to her, and she caught it. "I say we bind it in blood." Melanie winced as she cut her palm, then tossed it to Temperance. "My blood."_

_Temperance smiled, doing the same. They had been making blood oaths for years: she knew the ritual. "My blood." _

_Cole took it back, cutting his palm. "My blood."_

_They pressed their hands together. "Our blood."_

_Cole fingers looped through hers. "Together forever, right?"_

_Temperance nodded. "Together forever."_

o0o0o0o0o0o

A phone rang, somewhere in Temperance's apartment.

She came to with a start, rubbing her eyes. It was, she noticed with a glance at her clock, eight.

Grumbling, she rolled out of bed. It was eight, and someone was calling, and she needed to shower still and she was late...

And it was amazing just how hard it could be to find a ringing phone in a clean apartment.

She found it, eventually, and scrambled to hit the call button before the phone reached its inevitable last ring.

"Hello, you've reached Temperance Brennan," her answering machine blared from her bed room. "I'm not in right now, but please, leave a message after the beep..."

Temperance cursed vaguely, more annoyed at the wake up call than anything. She'd wanted, just for once, to oversleep and miss work.

Because work right now consisted of picking through the bones of her ex-best friend, and she had not planned that at all.

Sighing, she decided to listen to the message later. She meandered into her bathroom, setting the shower to a heat somewhere between "warm" and "if you enjoy this temperature, you're a masochist."

She undressed quickly, slipping into the burning water.

A hiss escaped Temperance's mouth as the hot water poured onto her skin, and she grappled with the temperature for a few moments before adjusting.

She sunk to the floor of the bath, letting the liquid pour over her. Her tense muscles relaxed for the first time in a few days, and she allowed herself a moment of calm thoughtlessness.

A wave of serenity flooded her, and she relished the release it brought. Temperance let her defenses drop and allowed herself a few moments of nothingness.

But apparently she couldn't ignore everything except for the time, because moments slipped through her fingers, and she realized, with a jolt, that the water was getting cold.

With another curse, she washed her body and hair. She wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out, dripping on the tile floor.

It was eight forty-five.

O0o0o0o0o0o

It was past nine by the time Temperance stormed into the lab.

She had dressed in a hurry—not that it had stopped her from looking presentable—and driven like a maniac. And still it had taken twenty minutes.

Temperance rushed to her office, pulling out her coat and bag and donning a lab coat.

She yanked on a pair of plastic gloves and walked quickly to the lab.

"Good morning," she called, taking the steps two at a time.

Zack nodded at her faintly, examining a case of matches. Hodgins sat in his chair, staring intensely at a pile of ash.

Temperance smiled for the first time that morning. This was her lab: her place. The only place where no one could touch her.

So what if her ex-best friend had been murdered? So what if she was late and frustrated and still behind on her sleep? Here, none of that mattered. Here, life went on.

She settled into the chair in her usual niche, looking at the x-rays in front of her. "What do we have so far?"

Zack opened his mouth to speak, but a female voice filled the air. "Sweetie, get over here."

"Is it related to the case?"

"No." Angela had now entered Temperance's range of sight, and was tapping her fingers in annoyance. "Sweetie, are you coming, or am I dragging you?"

"Angela," Temperance protested, "I have a case to focus on."

"Case schmase." Angela walked to Temperance, grabbed her arm, and tugged her in the vague vicinity of Angela's office. "Is she getting any deader?"

"Not exactly—but..."

And then the glass doors were swinging open, and Temperance found herself sitting in a chair.

"Spill, sweetie," Angela said, leaning towards her across the desk—_and how did she get over there so fast?,_ Temperance wondered.

"Ange, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Bren." As Temperance's look of confusion deepened, Angela rolled her eyes. "Fine. You were late."

Temperance raised an eyebrow. "And...?"

"And the last time you were late, you had finally slept with Sully."

"And...?"

"So, Bren, I'm asking you who you're sleeping with."

It was Temperance's turn to roll her eyes, which she did, with great exuberance. "Maybe that logic makes sense to you, Ange, but from my perspective, you just made a huge leap."

"But I was right, wasn't I? Please, please tell me you finally slept with Booth."

Temperance was glad she wasn't drinking coffee at that moment—she would have spit it all over the table. "Booth? Why does your mind always jump to Booth? For the last time, Angela—Booth and I are no more than partners."

Angela shook her head. "Touchy, touchy. Must have been really bad sex."

"There was no sex, Ange. No sex. Sex free Brennan. Get it?"

Booth, who had walked in during the middle of the conversation and _was_ drinking coffee, spit it on the floor. "Okay...," he said, looking at the rapidly forming brown stain. "I was just coming in to tell Bones she's needed... but I'm not sure I want to hear this. I'll be outside."

He edged slowly back out the door, which swung shut with a bang.

"Great," Temperance said, resting her head in her hands. "Now Booth is going to be all awkward for the rest of the day. Thanks, Ange."

Temperance walked to the door, carefully avoiding the coffee spill. "I'm going to clean up my mess—though you can clean up the coffee."

She stepped through the door, following Booth.

From inside the office, Angela sighed, eying the spill. "So this is my reward for playing Cupid?"

She shook her head, watching their receding backs. Booth was laughing, and Bren was gesturing dramatically, obviously trying to prove a point.

A grin filled her face as she grabbed a roll of paper towels. "They had better have really nice food at their wedding."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Okay, let's try that again. What have you got for me?"

Temperance was back in her lab, facing her staff.

"Well," Zack began, "we already know the victim's identity and gender, so I'll begin with the cause of death."

"The cranium has been struck multiple times here," he paused to point to the location, "and here."

"Both on the occipital bone," Temperance noted. Noticing Booth's confused look, she translated with a grin. "Where the skull attaches to the neck, Booth."

"Yes," Zack said, "but you just said that. Why did you repeat yourself?"

"Never mind."

"Anyway, we found splinters of wood around the impact. This combined with the shape of the injury suggests repeated swings of a wooden object—something like a baseball bat."'

"Was this the cause of death?"

"We are currently unsure, but if I might continue..."

"Of course."

"Well, the ulna and radius are broken similarly. It seems that impact was caused by the same weapon."

"Was it defensive, or was it post-mortem?"

"From the way it's broken, I'd say defensive. Most likely caused while the victim blocked blows from hitting her face."

Temperance leaned over the body, zeroing in on the ribcage. "What you've said so far makes it sound like she was beaten to death... but here, on the sternum, and there," she gestured to the ribcage, "on the third true rib, there are some slices that look consistent with stab wounds."

"Yes, and that is what has us so confused," Hodgins interjected for the first time. "It seems like she was beaten to death—most of her sternum and ribs are smashed, so we barely found the stab. But all of a sudden we find a stab wound—it's hard to determine what killed her."

"But the oddest thing—there was no blood at the scene. An assault like this would have broken skin, blood vessels; it would have left a mark. So I'm going to guess that means she was either killed somewhere else and moved there, or this happened post-mortem."

Booth suddenly felt the need to retch. "You're telling me someone killed this woman and then proceeded to attack her with a baseball bat?"

"It's my best guess."

Booth was surprised that disgust filled Bones' face as well. _Bones has seen some of the most gruesome remains of all time and hardly flinched. So why is she so sickened by this? She said herself that she didn't know the victim._

Temperance, meanwhile, was fighting away a pang of nausea. _Melanie was a good person, a good friend. She didn't deserve this. No one deserves this. Oh god, no one should have to die like this. No one should die alone, in the dark._

She pushed back the sick feeling in her stomach, and focused on the bones.

Hodgins leaned over to Zack. "Five dollars says she finds something we missed."

"I was very thorough: I'll take your bet."

_Everything seems normal... hang on, what the hell is that?_

"Zack, look here."

Zack sighed, leaning over.

"Here, in the back of the cranium... you see it?"

"See what?" Booth interrupted.

"This 'M' here, in the skull."

Zack walked to his computer and pushed a few buttons, and the skull came up on the screen.

Sure enough, there it was. In the middle of the pristine bone, a small 'M' had been painstakingly carved. The cuts were rough, and seemed to have been done manually.

Temperance shuddered.

"It could be the mark of something rammed into her cranium," Zack said hopefully.

"No... it's not that even. No, this was made by someone sitting for hours, digging a letter into bone with the point of a knife. I hope she was dead when he did this..."

"But why M? M for Melanie? The killer's signature? Some random compulsion?"

"Hodgins, you check the M. See if the knife had anything on it when it was used here—anything that could identify the killer or location of the killing. Zack... do something. I've really got to go."

Temperance stormed out of her lab, hand clutched to her mouth in an attempt to hold back the bile rising in her throat.

It didn't work.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance leaned over the sink, trying to rinse the repulsive taste out of her mouth.

_Melanie..._

The door swung open. "Sweetie?" Angela's voice called tentatively, testing the waters.

"Yeah, Ange, I'm here." Temperance pulled her hair back with shaking hands, glancing at her face in the mirror. She was pale, but pink was slowly flushing her cheeks again.

"Hon, what happened?" Angela asked quietly.

"I'll tell you. Just give me a minute." Temperance splashed water on her face, regaining her composure.

She led Angela back to her office, then closed and locked the door.

"Sweetie, this is something big, isn't it? Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm not sick, Ange. Just a bit nauseous."

"That's a first. Bodies have never bothered you before."

"Yes, but," Temperance stopped, then decided to tell her, "this isn't just any body."

Angela stayed silent, waiting.

Temperance opened her mouth, and the whole story came tumbling out.

By the end of it, Angela was staring at her with concern. "Bren, why didn't you tell any of us you knew this woman? This is hard for us, but it's horrible for you."

"Because, Ange. I want to—need to—catch the bastard who did this to Melanie. I need to find him, find out what the hell he had against Mel. Melanie was a good person who died for nothing. I need to make sure she's avenged. I need to see her killer go to jail for life—or even better, I need to see him get the death penalty. But I can't feel safe knowing that he's out there, still. Waiting, watching."

Angela's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to tell Booth?"

"No... he'll take me off the case, as you well know. I couldn't stand that, Ange."

"Yeah, well, Booth is very perceptive. He'll figure it out if you keep having mad bathroom dashes."

"That, I'm sure, will only happen once. Something about my friend being brutally murdered got to my stomach. It won't happen again, though."

"Fine."

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go help catch a sadist."

"Right. But Bren," and Temperance paused at the door, waiting, "be careful. Don't get so involved that it puts you in danger."

"Danger. Me? Never."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance had intended to return to her lab, but she was intercepted about half way there by a concerned looking Booth.

"You all right, Bones?"

"I'm fine, Booth. Just felt a bit off. Still, I'm better and I think I'll head back to the lab."

"No you won't."

Temperance turned to Booth, surprised. "Why?"

"Because you're pale, your hands are shaking, it's nine at night, and you feel ill. You are going to go home, take a day off, sleep a lot."

This sounded agreeable to Temperance, and she nodded slowly. "Goodnight, Booth."

She had only taken about six steps when he caught up with her.

"You are not driving, Bones. No—don't even bother arguing. There's no point."

She argued, none the less, but allowed Booth to drag her to his car. Temperance really was tired, and she didn't feel great...

A few hundred feet away, the eyes were smiling. _So they've found the first part of the puzzle, but they haven't solved it. I see they aren't dead: that's good. It was a bit hasty of me to kill her without reminding her of __**why**_

_Besides, the game isn't up yet. I've plenty of time. And when she dies, I want her to look me in the face. I want her to remember. I want her to realize what she's done._

_And then, as the famous line goes..._

_Off with her head._

O0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance opened her apartment door wearily, throwing her back over a chair.

"Here we are again, Booth. I'll go get washed up, and then I'll be back."

Booth waited in her living room, tapping his fingers. Eventually he situated himself on the couch, pulling off his coat and shoes.

She returned a few minutes later, barely alert enough to stand.

"Hello, Booth."

"Hey. You should get some sleep."

"Prob'ly. G'night."

"Good night, Bones."

Temperance walked back to her bedroom, with Booth a half-step behind her.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you following me?"

"You look like you're about to collapse."

Fortunately, she made it to the bed before losing consciousness.

Booth settled on a chair beside the bed, watching her.

_Bones is even gorgeous sleeping. I guess she was really tired, seeing as she's slept badly for a few days._

_Do the dreams have anything to do with that?_

_And really, what was with her dream? She calls out Melanie and that is our victim's name? Is Bones psychic?_

As if she knew he was thinking about her, she called out in her sleep. "Booth."

And suddenly he had the urge to do something he knew was very, very stupid.

Impulsively, he slipped into the bed beside her, rolling over so his back faced hers.

_She's going to kill me in the morning, _Booth thought.

And somehow, it didn't matter.

**This author's note is going to be very long, but bear with me.**

**Well, a nice long chapter for all of you. Be happy! Next chap is pure fluff, but it becomes serious after that again.**

**Oh, god, the flashback scene was so hard. I can't picture Temperance loving anyone but Booth, so she's a bit OOC in that section. Please don't be mad...**

**Also, keep in mind that my facts (in terms of medicine) might be off. I'm thirteen, for gods sake, and I'm getting all my facts off the web and from a very old book. Have pity, please.**

**Eighth grade sucks, by the way. Ever since I started it my grammar has gone to hell. Sighs...**

**Oh, just to clear one thing up: during the flashback, Temperance's parents haven't left yet.**

**Finally, the weirdest thing happened. I was writing this chapter and a one shot idea popped into my head at random. Well, I wrote it. It is on the site: BB, called "Define Love."**

**Well, thanks again, and I love everyone who reviews.**

**No Flames!!!**


	5. Because some pieces belong together

**Well, hello again. This is my newest chapter. Just so you know, it's Saturday when this is going on. Last chapter ended on Friday night.**

**Only five reviews last chapter... I'm not feeling the love. Still, to my five reviewers—TemperTemper, dancingpiggy, beaglelvr93, Bellabun, and DarkVampireAngel81—goes a huge thanks.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. Although, it is on my Wish list for the holidays...**

Temperance Brennan awoke at roughly eight—because this, after all, was her day off.

It was a gorgeous day, too; sun spilled through her open window, and a cloudless turquoise sky greeted her gently.

She smiled. It was going to be a good day.

And then she rolled over to check her clock.

Only to find she couldn't see her clock over a large male body.

She frowned a little. _Who...?_

Still half-asleep, she leaned over him to see his face. _Oh, it's only Booth. No need to panic..._

_Hang on. Booth. Booth. BOOTH?_

Temperance, luckily, was not the type for hyperventilation. She had never done it in the past, and she did not plan to do it. Ever.

But there is a first time for everything.

After she regained control of her breathing pattern, her mind flew to the next step. Booth wasn't lying in her bed for no reason...

_What the hell is Booth doing in my bed? Oh god, did we...?_

Temperance had a brief secondary bout with her lungs—twice in one day, now that was a first—before tugging her covers violently upwards.

She, to her immense relief, was clothed in satin pajamas—both the shirt and the pants.

And Booth was wearing the exact same clothes as he had worn the day before.

_He must have had to stay because I didn't give him a key to lock up. There are no sheets in the guest bedroom, and the couch would be less comfortable._

_At least, I hope that was what he was thinking._

_Still, why the hell would he violate my personal space like that? _

She took a moment to relax, then slid out of bed.

_Okay, okay. What am I going to do?_

_Talk to him about it—whatever it is, because I DON'T KNOW—peacefully. Not such a good choice. Knowing me, I'll either end up punching him out or screaming and flailing. And probably throwing things for good measure. Pointy things._

_Get out. That actually seems intelligent. Spend some time cooling off, relax a bit. Come back when I'm ready to._

_Or ignore the whole situation and pretend it never happened. Well, I've never been much of a liar._

_Or throw Booth out of my apartment. Tempting, but he might get mad..._

_Get out it is. Now I just need to shower, and..._

Making a checklist in her head, she set off to the showers.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Booth knew, when he awoke, that sleeping in her bed had been a mistake. A phenomenally stupid, life-changing mistake. One that would probably ruin his friendship and partnership with Bones.

On one hand, it hadn't been a, "There are weapons of mass destruction," sort of mistake. In the grand scheme of things, it hadn't even been a blip on the cosmic radar.

But on the other hand, he had screwed up. Badly.

Cursing internally, he got out of bed—and it wasn't his bed, he chided himself, so he shouldn't have been in it—and tip-toed to the living room.

There was no fuming Bones, to his relief. The living room was empty.

Comforted slightly by the fact that he was not lying dead on the floor with an angry forensic scientist standing over him, he continued his search.

She was not, however, in the guest bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or the kitchen. Or the dining room.

His breathing hitched in his throat. _Where is she?_

_Could she have been kidnapped... again? Even with her gun and her macho facade? Because I will laugh so hard—bad Booth! This is not something to laugh about. Bones is missing and there is no note here! Only that tiny piece of paper... oh right. The tiny piece of paper._

Feeling very silly, he picked the note off the dining room table and read it.

_Dear Booth_, it read,

_Moron. I'm going out so I'm not tempted to murder you in your sleep. _

_Go home and leave me alone. I'm fine, I'm safe. Just very pissed off. _

_Next to this note is a key to the apartment. No, drop the goofy grin_—he obeyed—_and listen. I expect this back. I'm assuming you didn't leave last night because you couldn't lock up. _

_But you can lock up now. So leave._

_And if I don't have that key back on Monday, Booth, then it doesn't matter if you're sleeping or not; I will murder you._

_Temperance_

Booth sighed, dropping the note to the counter top.

_So, in twelve hours I've managed to offend my partner, panic blindly, and make a fool of myself by being unable to find a piece of paper on a wooden table._

He grabbed the key and walked to her door, locking up.

_All in a day's work._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Temperance sat in the lobby of her local mall and wondered, briefly, if this had been a good idea.

She had called Angela as she left the house and explained that she had a free day.

And seeing as Angela took the weekends off—and Temperance mostly did as well, though she had not been planning to this week—she had suggested they do something.

What had entered Angela's mind first?

Shopping.

But Temperance could hardly complain. She was running from her partner and ex-best friend, and she couldn't exactly go home yet...

So she had agreed.

Which had really not been a brilliant idea.

_But, _she thought as she sipped her coffee, _it's too late to take it back now._

So there she was, sitting in the lobby of a mall sipping at a grande non-fat latte and blessing the wonder that was Starbucks.

It was quiet in a white-noise sort of way—the chatter of those around her rushed over her passively, and she smiled. These were everyday urban sounds—sounds that were made regardless of your partner being a lecherous invader of your personal space...

She sighed. _I think I've twisted the facts a bit._

_I mean, yes, he did use my bed without permission. But it wasn't like he was trying to grope me or something. He just laid down as far away from me as he could and faced the wall. _

_All in all, it could have been worse._

_So maybe I'll nag him a bit when I get back... but as of now, I'm overreacting._

_In fact, shopping with Angela is overdoing it regardless of the circumstances. _

_Maybe if I walk away now, I can still get away in time..._

"Temperance," Angela's voice called.

Temperance cringed. _Too late..._

She took a final swig of her latte and threw it in the trash.

_Here goes nothing._

Shopping beckoned. It was her duty—or rather, Angela's duty, and hers by default—to answer. She would just have to pretend she was a warrior going to battle against an army twice the size of her own. Fight bravely and valiantly, and as soon as you can...

She groaned and set off towards Angela.

...Run.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Booth had gone to his own apartment, showered, dressed, and prepared for a lazy day around the house.

Of course, life is in no way predictable.

So as soon as he was ready for absolutely nothing, something popped up.

It seemed it was an old friend of his—Anika "Anni" Blare, a friend from college who had become a lawyer—was coming to D.C. for her birthday.

And he didn't have a birthday present.

Anni, however, was predictable. She always would take clothes and jewelry. Anything else was a wild card.

And the best place for clothes and jewelry...

Well, it seemed Seeley Booth was being forced to go to one of his least favorite places.

The Mall.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Several hours after the spree had begun, Temperance had taken a break to buy another coffee.

She was drinking peacefully, hoping the sensory overload would disappear with the last of her coffee.

Angela, as always, had no limitations. She had a millionaire for a boyfriend and a loaded scientist for a best friend—why bother stopping?

Temperance groaned at the memory of those bags. She hadn't managed to convince Angela to drop the bags off at the car until she was nearly collapsing. It had been like a cartoon—boxes piled high above the character's head, swaying precariously and waiting to topple.

To her immense relief, Ange had taken a short break when she had begun physically throwing bags so they could reach the top of the stack.

But after the bags had been packed into the trunk, Shopping Mode reappeared.

And Temperance had been dragged through store after store...

It was too much. Too many people, too much activity, too many outfits she would never wear...

So she had evoked the only other argument Angela accepted. Coffee.

_It's amusing_, she realized, _that Ange puts coffee on her list of priorities. Bathroom—hold it. Too much money spent—sweetie, you are a walking bank account. Sensory overload—I don't even think you're capable of having sensory overload._

_But coffee? Hold the phones, drop everything and run—our sacred beverage calls._

She swirled the last few sips, reluctant to admit she was done. Because then she would have to shop—the horror.

And yet... Angela was no where to be seen.

Smiling, she gulped down the last sip, then glanced around cautiously. _No Angela. Coast is clear. _

She bounded to the nearest trash can, and placed the empty cup delicately inside...

And suddenly Angela's hand had a grip of steel on her upper arm, and she was being dragged backwards towards Macy's.

"Come on, sweetie. Day isn't over yet."

Temperance sighed, allowing her captor the momentary victory.

_More shopping. Oh joy._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Booth had one plan for this trip: make it short, keep it small, get out.

_It's like pulling off a band-aid; the faster you get it done, the less it hurts._

_But still... shopping? Me? On a Saturday? In the women's department of Macy's?_

_If someone had told me this would be how I would be spending my weekend, I would have laughed._

_But I'm not laughing now, am I?_

And just when he thought things could get no worse, he was cornered by a pushy saleslady.

There was no means of escape. Behind, a wall. In front, the pushy woman in question. On the left, a rack of clothes that he would not like to barrel into. And to the right... woman's lingerie.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

So he sighed and allowed her to talk.

"Shopping for your girlfriend, darling?" she said with just a hint of the most revolting accent he'd ever heard.

"No, just a friend. It's her birthday soon."

"Good looking?"

"Anni? Never."

"Oh, but that's alright, darling. Real beauty comes from inside."

_And I never knew that anyone actually said that after elementary school. Is she quoting My Little Pony, or does she seriously believe herself?_

With a glance at her, he realized she probably wished it was true. Acne scars, uneven skin tone, messy hair...

_Save me, lord..._

And, as if god really had sent down an angel, a Temperance-shaped head bobbed along on his left.

He couldn't see her over the rack, but the woman's hair was the same color as Temperance's, and she was the right height...

And then he heard her voice.

"Really, Ange. I have enough clothes to last me the rest of eternity; you can stop now."

"Please, sweetie. We're going."

Temperance spotted him then. "Hey, it's Booth!"

Angela's head didn't even turn. "Yeah, sure. Booth in the women's section. That'll be the day. Look, if you're gonna lie, at least make it plausible."

And then Bones was dragged past by Angela, and Booth was stuck with the sales lady.

"So, love, blue or red?" she asked, gesturing at two very hideous shirts.

"Blue," he said impulsively, grabbing it. "That'll be all. Bye!"

And then he dashed off towards Bones, stopping only briefly to hurl the shirt back onto a rack.

_Score 1 Booth, 0 Annoying Sales people._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Temperance was sneaking away from the women's bathroom as quickly as possible.

_For a second, it seemed like Ange didn't even have basic functions. I mean, six espressos and a latte and still she doesn't use the bathroom._

_Thank god her bladder can't hold on forever._

She was free.

_Of course, she'll find me again within minutes, but at least I have time to drop some bags off at the car._

_So, mission one, find Booth._

_And mission two... force him to carry these bags before I fall down from the strain._

However, Temperance had never been especially good at finding things, or people.

So, when ten minutes of frenzied limping—she could hardly walk with all the weight—was not enough to find him, Temperance began to give up.

She ventured out of the men's department, and wondered exactly how long Ange would take to find her.

She found a bench and sat on it, tapping her fingers and watching the escalators.

Only to see, to her immense surprise, that Booth was stepping onto the down escalator.

"Booth!" she called, but he couldn't hear her.

Sighing, she stood up and limp-ran to the escalator.

There was Booth, facing away from her at the bottom. Temperance smiled and stepped on the down.

Half-way down, however, she realized that the man below her wasn't Booth—although he looked very similar. Booth was riding the up escalator, right next to her but going the opposite way.

"Booth!" she yelled, vaguely amused.

"Bones! How did you end up over there?"

"Could ask the same of you," she called back. Booth was going out of ear shot, and she had to yell, catching the attention of many shoppers—not that she cared. She was fixated on catching up with Booth.

Finally, she came to a stop at the bottom of the escalator.

Temperance limped back to the up escalator and stepped on it eagerly.

Only to find that Booth was heading back down.

She laughed slightly. "Stay down there!"

"Okay."

She stepped off the up, rounding the corner to reach the down. It was just six steps, but they were the longest six steps she had ever taken.

Then she was on the down again, tapping her fingers and grinning like a teenager in love.

She frowned at herself. _In love? Where the hell did that come from? You seriously need to get your mind under wraps before you do something stupid._

Temperance waited.

_Since when has it taken this long to get to the bottom? _She could see Booth below, smiling up at her. He was grinning as much as she, one step short of holding his arms out for her.

_He's waiting..._

Surprisingly, Angela's voice invaded her head. _Go ahead. Live a little._

Her grin widened, if such a thing was possible. _Screw it. _She jumped the steps, taking them two at a time.

And then there was no ground under her feet, and she was careening through the air. She tumbled downwards, bracing for an impact.

But she never hit the ground. A hand caught her and tugged her upright.

Temperance came to a stop with her head burrowed into someone's chest. Not just any someone, but a male, very muscular someone. Someone she had never been this close to before.

And would never be again, most likely.

"You know, Bones, that falling for someone doesn't really mean_ falling_ for someone."

She inhaled deeply. His scent flooded her nose: aftershave and shampoo and just a whiff of cologne. She had to say something intelligent, something memorable...

"Booth."

Temperance stifled a groan. _Great, Brennan. Just great. You reach for something useful and instead manage to prove that you really can remember names. Why is it that my grasp of the English language seems to slip when I need it most?_

"Bones."

And there was something in his voice that made things okay. Because she'd failed to say anything good, but there was something in his tone...

For once, Temperance knew that life could not ruin this moment.

Life, of course, viewed this as a dare. Accordingly...

"Angela!" A voice said cheerfully from behind them.

The groan she had been holding back attempted to enter, stage right.

But Temperance withheld it again, telling herself that she really didn't mind. _ After all, it's not like I'm in love with Booth or something..._

But a sense of dissatisfaction filled her as she pulled away from Booth.

Angela scowled at them. "Why did you stop? I was enjoying the show."

"Well," Temperance said, slightly flushed and distinctly annoyed at being found, "that's what you get for stalking me down here and randomly saying your name."

"I felt lonely," Angela explained, pretending to pout. "You ran away, and then I found you down here..."

"Yes, well, these bags are heavy. I really would like a break—by which I don't mean a broken arm."

"I would have stopped."

"Sure you would, Demon Shopper."

Booth interjected. "Let's just stop now before this turns into a full-fledged cat fight, shall we?"

"Only if you'll carry the bags."

Angela smiled at her, bemused. "When did you learn to negotiate?"

Temperance smiled slyly. "That is for me to know, and you to guess."

"That is absolutely _no fair_, sweetie..."

Angela's phone rang, cutting her short.

"Just a minute."

Angela whipped it expertly out of her bag, holding it to her ear.

"Hello? Oh, hi Jack. Yeah, I'm out with Bren."

"There is? Oh, that sort of something. Well, if it can wait—no, no. I can be there. Yes—and no. Sure, love. Be right there."

Angela hung up.

"Sweetie, I need your keys?"

"Why?"

"Jack dropped me off, and he doesn't have time to pick me up. I'll get it back to you on Monday—no scratches, no dents, or you have a free pass for next time."

"Next time?" Temperance asked, tossing the keys.

"Did you seriously think we were done here? Booth, bags."

Angela shoulder them grudgingly, wincing at the weight of them. "These are heavy! What the hell do you have in here, sweetie—a bowling ball?"

"Only if you bought me one."

"True. Well, gotta go, I'm afraid. See ya, sweetie." Angela began to walk—or limp, really, but that was her own fault—away, but stopped and turned back to them.

"Oh, and Booth?" she called. "Feed her, and take her home, 'k?"

"Sure, Angela."

And then she was gone, sprinting as best as she could under the bags towards one of the exits.

"What am I?" Temperance sulked. "A child you're passing around? I can feed myself."

"Yes, you can," Booth said dryly, "but you won't. You are going to help me pick out a present for a friend, and then we're going out to dinner."

"Fair enough."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Fortunately for Booth, the saleslady had disappeared by the time he entered the women's department.

Still, he steered clear of the clothes section just to be sure, leading Bones to the jewelry counters.

"So," he began, "what would you want here?"

He had expected a quick answer. He didn't know why, but for some reason it seemed like she would know the jewelry counter inside out, just like her skeletons. It made sense to him, somehow, that she wouldn't even have to look. Just pick, buy, done.

Instead, she took her time. She examined each deliberately, smiling at some and grimacing at others.

Finally, she had lowered it to two.

"Either this one," she said, "or this one."

The first was a necklace of Tiger's Eye, small beads shining in the light. Next to it were two matching earrings.

The other was an emerald ring, necklace and earring set. The ring was a thin band of silver with an inset of emerald. The earrings were studs of emerald, from which thin silver loops descended. And the necklace was a chain of emeralds.

Booth smiled, as if at some far off memory. "Anni loves Tiger's Eye."

"Tiger's Eye it is then," Temperance said cheerfully. She began to walk towards the counter, but her eyes lingered on the emeralds.

"Hey, Bones. You figure out a restaurant you want. I'll buy the jewelry."

"Suit yourself," Temperance said, shrugging.

Booth paid and followed after her.

It was going to be a good night.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Angela's car pulled into her fiancé's driveway, coming slowly round the enormous drive to park in front of the main house.

"I'm here," she called cheerfully, walking into the mansion.

"Hello, love. I've been waiting for you." Jack was there in the hallway, smiling. "So, tell me. Why did I have to call and make up a disaster?"

"Because," she said playfully, kissing him. "Bren and Booth need to figure this out. And if they can't understand what they're feeling, I'm going to give them a push in the right direction."

"Well, there's an idea. So, seeing as you're here now, what are we doing?"

"I would have thought it would be obvious," she said, then kissed him again.

"Well," he said between kisses, "I wouldn't want to be presumptuous."

"Presumptuous? You? Never."

And then she dragged him towards his bedroom.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Temperance sat in the Royal Diner and pondered about how, exactly, she had gotten there.

Physically, she knew quite well. She had left the mall and walked to Booth's car, and they had driven the rest of the way.

But what puzzled her was how she had gotten to that point.

Before Booth, she would have eaten at fancy Italian restaurants, or maybe French. She would pick something exclusive, something special.

Yet, what had entered her mind when Booth had asked her to pick a restaurant?

The Royal Diner.

And she knew this meant that she had changed. That she was different, in some way.

The whole problem was that she wasn't sure that she liked who she was becoming.

Oh, it wasn't a problem of self-loathing or some such. She really was quite happy with herself, considering everything that had happened to her.

But before, she would have been way out of her comfort zone here.

When had she taken that step? Taken friends over work. Taken diners over restaurants.

At what point had she become perfectly in sync with Booth? When was the first time she had felt completely safe, just because he was there? For how long had she been able to go anywhere, even in dangerous situations, so long as he stood behind her?

And why was she so comfortable being interdependent?

"Hey. Bones. Earth to Bones."

She jolted out of her reverie, raising her glance from her salad to Booth. "Yeah, sorry. I'm okay, just... thinking."

"You seemed a bit... spacey, I guess."

"Wasn't trying to be. Sorry."

"It's okay, Bones. You've had one hell of a week."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the case. You seem to be taking it hard."

"No, I'm not, really."

"Bones, you've never been much of a liar."

"Good thing I'm not lying. Look, Booth, can we drop the case? I want my day off to really be a day off. No mention of work whatsoever."

"Okay. But if you need to talk, I'm here."

She smiled at him. "I know, Booth. And I trust you. I just need one day."

"Fair enough. Everybody needs a break. Although how Angela's shopping torture counts as a break, I've really no idea."

Temperance slapped his arm playfully. "I was pissed off at you, to tell the truth."

Booth winced. "Right. About that..."

She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Shh. You're already forgiven."

It was a stupid idea, really. To lean forward, to put herself so close to his mouth...

Because suddenly, all he could think about was kissing her.

_We're just partners. Just partners. Nothing more._

A feeble bubble of thought formed in his head. He knew the type: it you looked at it too carefully, it popped, and then you would never know.

So he let it sit, somewhere out of the light, and gave it space.

It was an important thought, as he found out later. Terribly, horribly important.

But for those moments, it didn't matter.

Booth was focusing on not kissing his favorite forensic anthropologist.

Temperance leaned back, however, and his mind cleared.

Still, he finished eating in silence, afraid he really would give in to his 'biological impulses.' He nearly grinned. _Like she hasn't lectured me about them enough already._

Finally, Temperance spoke. "So, will you drive me home?"

"Of course," Booth said with a smile. _Be careful. You nearly lost it there. Keep yourself together. Yes, she's pretty, but you won't ruin your friendship because she looks good._

The silence remained right up until he was walking her to her door.

"Here you are."

Temperance smiled. "Thanks, Booth. For saving me from Angela, and all that."

"Anytime," he said with a smirk.

"Right, well, I'll be heading in."

"Good night."

She moved to step inside, when suddenly Booth caught the door. "Bones, your key."

In a split second, she had made her decision.

"Keep it."

And then the door swung shut, leaving Booth outside with a growing grin on his face.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Temperance went about getting ready for bed.

It was fairly early, just nine o clock. Still, she was exhausted.

_It's the case, _she thought as she slipped into bed. _The case and Angela and Booth. Everything is taking a toll on me._

She had expected that sleep would not come easily. That it would elude her for hours, and then only come in restless jolts.

But as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

And for the first time in days, she did not jerk awake in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat and screaming. She wasn't haunted by eyes and locked rooms and knives.

For one night, her sleep was free of nightmares. And why?

Temperance Brennan was dreaming about Booth.

**So, did you like the fluff?**

**Anyway, listen. This story is going to be really long. Possibly longer than I can actually handle.**

**But I know for a fact that I won't finish it without reviews.**

**I need encouragement. So if you're reading this, drop a review. I don't care if you talk about my story, or the weather, or your big toe. Just let me know you care, 'k?**

**First person to review gets the next chapter dedicated to them!!!**

**No Flames!!!**


	6. Adding to the Puzzle

**Like I promised, this chap goes to my first reviewer, Sythiel. I feel very much loved, and the reviews were all great! Thanks again!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not going to be, not happy about it.**

Temperance entered the lab, snapping on a pair of plastic gloves.

She was early, even by her own standards. It was six-thirty, and yet there she was, showered and ready for work.

The lab was empty, but Temperance had expected that. In fact, she had anticipated that. Looked forward to it, even.

_This is Melanie. Or at least it's what remains of her. So it's my job to find out what happened to her. Not Ange's, not Booth's, and not Zach's. Mine._

She knew, even as she thought it, that she was being ridiculous. That she needed their help.

_But, _a tiny and highly annoying part of her brain squeaked, _you also know that it might be your fault. After all that happened, you know you can't be entirely sure that it wasn't. Hell, the fact that you found her dead after all these years... you should really tell Booth. It could be important._

Temperance shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. Motive wasn't important at that moment. She wanted to focus on the murder weapon, the knife—tangible things with real evidence behind them. Not fanciful musings caused by guilt and maybe some trauma.

Flicking her access card past the reader, she walked up the stairs.

And there, just like she expected it, was Melanie's body.

She had always said that being clinical helped. That being detached allowed you to focus on reality instead of fixating on the tragedy of it all.

But, for the first time in years, Temperance Brennan couldn't force herself to stay reserved.

Corpse. It sounded all wrong, somehow. This wasn't a body. This was Melanie. Mel, the kind girl who had taken Temperance under her wing.

She shuddered, trying not to see Melanie's face attached to the bones in front of her.

However, Temperance found herself lacking focus. Every attempt she made to discover the cause of death came swirling back to nothingness.

Sighing, she snapped the gloves back off and walked away from the lab.

By the time she realized she was walking, her hands were curled around the handle to her office door.

She looked around the familiar room. It looked the same. Nothing had changed, and yet... she felt uneasy.

Temperance decided that getting over her emotions was more important than discovering the murder weapon. If she couldn't work, she would be no help to Melanie.

So, perfectly aware of all the clichés involved, she sat down on her couch and closed her eyes.

_Okay. Stay clinical. Stay detached. Just think._

_What is the problem? Obviously it has something to do with the case. Maybe just Melanie, but the whole thing is unsettling._

_Puzzle pieces, for one. Usually, clues like that don't suggest one murder. They suggest many to come. And yet... no more bodies. No more calls._

_The call itself. The operators said the call came from a woman, a woman who sounded very distraught. Now, Mel wasn't weak. She was fairly strong, and we took a lot of martial arts classes together. Melanie wouldn't be taken without a fight._

_So, I know the caller was involved in the murder. But a woman wouldn't be able to kill Melanie alone unless she was one hell of a fighter. Assuming we don't have a crazed female wrestler on the loose, it must have been someone Mel knew._

_But who...?_

_Or—could it be? No. No way. That's just..._

_Oh god. It was. It couldn't have been anyone else._

_But to do that... it's sick. It's sadistic. To offer them one chance like that and to stand by? To let them come so close to freeing themselves and then drag them back?_

Temperance suddenly felt like her stomach was being attacked. _Physical beatings, playing with them psychologically... our murderer isn't just a sadist. They're a torturer._

Her mind was invaded by pictures of Melanie. Mel curled into a ball, protecting herself as best she could from oncoming blows... Melanie's face, streaked with tears, as she tried to scream... Melanie looking up into the eyes of her murderer, looking at the expression of pleasure that filled their face and knowing, just knowing that she wouldn't survive...

Temperance's stomach heaved, and she barely had time to reach the bathroom before it rebelled, emptying itself of all its contents.

Temperance rested her head on the marble floor, cool stone helping to eliminate the layer of sweat that had covered her face.

_This case is coming too close. I'm playing with fire here, and I know for a fact that it will burn me, given the chance..._

_I can't keep doing this. Keep throwing up in sinks and toilets because I don't know when to quit. I need to help Mel, but this case is not doing good things for me._

_I should tell Booth. I should tell him I need to leave this case. I should provide what information I can and take a nice long vacation._

Even as she thought it, Temperance knew she would never go through with it. _I know I have to stay on this case. Her murderer is testing us. Testing me. And I've never gotten a B on a test..._

_So I'll stay on the case and see how it goes. I'll figure this out. I'll be clinical. I'll help._

_But if I end up lying on this floor again, I'm leaving. If I start seeing Melanie in a set of bones—a set that doesn't even belong to her anymore—I'm leaving. If I make everyone worried and hinder the investigation, I'm leaving._

_So now the question becomes, can I handle this?_

Temperance, for the first time in all her extensive memory, couldn't honestly say yes.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Angela hummed as she walked towards her friend's office.

It was a Sunday, and traditionally she wouldn't be working. But she knew Temperance needed her—after all, she had been having a bad day on Friday—and she knew that as a best friend, she had to...

Angela nearly laughed. _Who am I kidding? I want to ask her about her date with Booth._

Temperance's office was empty, however.

A furrow creased Angela's brow. _Is she late again?_

A brief jolt of excitement passed through her. _Maybe the date went perfect, and Booth spent the night over... and the next night..._

But Angela was smart, and not just in terms of relationships. She knew where Temperance would be.

Still, a pang went through her as she opened the bathroom door to find Temperance sprawled on the ground.

"Sweetie," she said, kneeling next to her friend. "Not again."

"Again," Temperance confirmed dryly. "Can you just leave me here, Ange? The cold feels good."

"Okay, I know there's something wrong when you're happy you're lying down on a germ-infested floor. What happened?"

"I had a revelation. It was disgusting, honestly. And I need to tell Booth... but that can wait a while."

"How long have you been lying here?" Angela asked, considering whether or not to make Bren take the day off.

"An hour or two. I don't know, exactly; I'm not wearing a watch."

"Look, Bren. I'm going to get Booth, and you are going to take a break."

Temperance's head shot up at that, and she caught Angela's wrist. "You are not calling Booth, and I'm not doing anything. Save maybe getting up off of this floor. It probably isn't very sanitary."

Angela smiled weakly. "Now there is the Temperance I know."

Temperance stood slowly, making sure her stomach was controlled. She looked in the bathroom mirror, straightening her hair and splashing water on her face. "Okay. Do I look presentable?"

"Sure. Your look is all the rage in didn't-sleep-at-all, threw-up-in-a-bathroom-sink."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Well, no. With the proper application of make-up, we could achieve a recovering-druggie chic."

"Ange, honesty is our friend."

"Fine. You don't look that bad. I just wish you would take a day off."

Temperance's head snapped around, and her eyes fixated on Angela's. "Ange, if Hodgins was murdered, what would you do?"

"I would go home and get over the shock of it all. Come back in a few months."

"No, you wouldn't. I know you, Ange. You'd take a day or two off to deal with the initial shock—which I've done—and then come back and throw yourself into finding his murderer."

"Angela, look. Some people might crack under the strain. Some people might run away. Some people might hide rather than try their best to help. But you, me, Booth, we aren't those people. I spend so much time around death that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If I were an average person, you would expect me to throw up. To lose sleep. So I've had my day to be average. I've had my day of running away. And I'm tired of it."

"So I am going to find her murderer. I am going to find the man—or woman—who did this to her. And I am going to track them down. And Ange... god help them if I catch them without Booth there. Because if I'm alone... I'm probably going to kill them."

Temperance turned back to the mirror, producing a small make-up case. Within a few minutes, she looked almost the same as she had before this whole mess. "There. Now, I have to find Booth. See you, Ange."

Angela didn't answer, only watched as her friend exited the room.

There was an aura about Temperance, Angela realized. An aura of someone driven. Someone who would run forever just to find the person they were chasing after.

There was no mercy in that person. No kindness. None of the compassion that Angela could always see in her best friend.

This case was changing her already. The woman who had just stood in front of her, eyes blazing and harsh words flying from her mouth, was not Temperance Brennan.

And as Angela watched the door crash back to its place, unable to move, a single thought filled her head.

Whoever had spoken those words, whoever had made those promises, whoever her best friend was becoming...

Whoever that person was, they scared her.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance didn't have to go far to look for her partner.

There he was, sitting on her couch and whistling, holding two coffee cups and a muffin in his hands.

_Thank god. Coffee and food. Just what I need to get back to normal._

"Good morning, Booth."

"Good morning, Bones. Coffee?"

"And a muffin, if you have two." She sat down next to him, yawning a little.

"I don't, but there is this little thing called sharing we were supposed to learn about in kindergarten..."

"I've done my best to forget kindergarten, honestly. Finger painting and counting blocks and cooties. Not exactly something I like to reminisce about."

Booth rolled his eyes, handing her the drink and half the muffin. "Well, it may surprise you, but most adults spend a lot of time thinking of their younger years."

"Adults as in you personally? Now that would be a sight to see. You reminiscing in your free time." She sipped the coffee and swallowed cautiously, checking the condition of her stomach. When it held, after some minutes, she decided to risk another gulp.

"Are you suggesting that I'm incapable of memory recall?"

"Okay, Booth. Is Zack seriously sitting behind you and throwing his voice, or have you learned that there are words with more than five letters in the English language?"

"Touchy, Bones. Bad morning?"

"No." She sighed, taking a bite of her muffin. "I'm just taking it out on you because I've realized something."

Booth leaned forward, interested. "Define something."

"I was thinking about our mysterious caller. Now, the victim's bones showed that she was adept in martial arts of some sort," Temperance said, lying through her teeth, "and probably quite strong. And yet our caller—and possibly our murderer—was a woman. I was just thinking about who might have called."

"And this is important because...?"

"This is important because the caller was none other than Melanie Crow herself. Which means two things. One, her killer was tormenting her. He let her call 911, let her call the police. Let her call everyone who could save her, but didn't let her say that she was the one in danger. He put safety so close, and then pulled it away. This combined with the beatings she took suggests that she was tortured before she died."

"Secondly, seeing as the killer had to have been there when she called, and we arrived fifteen minutes later, it means the killer didn't have a long time to get away. I won't profess to being a believer in psychology, but I'm willing to bet that anyone who wanted their crimes found that badly would have hung around and waited just to make sure."

Booth caught on, nearly hugging her. "So, the murderer was probably within a few blocks. And seeing as there were a lot of stores on that one side of the road, we might have caught them on tape."

"Exactly."

"Now, is director Cullen sitting behind you, or have you actually started listening to me?"

Temperance slapped him gently on the arm, smiling. "Now then, don't you have some running about and superior-finding to do?"

"Oh, I should find Cullen. He wants to be briefed on this case, but the thing is, seeing as he's sitting right behind you, no looking is necessary."

"Booth, be serious for a moment."

"Okay. I actually came to go over this case file with you. Figure we should know about our victim before we go any further with this case."

Temperance held her tongue, intrigued. _What has Melanie been doing in the years I've been gone?_

"Victim's name is Melanie Crow. She was thirty-two at time of death. She was a twin; brother by the name of Cole. Her mother, Helen Crow, is now sixty. Her father, Alan Crow, is deceased. Cole and Melanie ran away when they were sixteen. Apparently Cole's girlfriend came with them, but she left again a few months later—we don't have a name for her or anything. Cole's whereabouts are unknown."

Temperance almost gave herself away at that. Cole was not missing, as she well knew...

But Booth couldn't know the part of it, or he would figure out the whole thing. He was intuitive in that way, and she knew she couldn't lie to him for very long.

"Helen lives about 30 minutes away from here. If we take the van, we could go and break the news, come back, and still have time to eat lunch at Wong Foo's."

Temperance thought quickly. _I can't go now... I need time to think. I have to delay this... but how? _Suddenly, she realized. "Please, don't mention food. I haven't eaten anything all morning but that muffin, which is rather insufficient as far as nutrients go."

Booth frowned a little. _She is way too involved in this case. She isn't eating, probably hasn't slept much, and got sick on the first day of the case. Bones needs to remember to take care of herself. _"You have to eat breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, for all that I'm starting to sound like a cereal commercial."

"Booth, I'm fine, really. Really. I can manage on a muffin for a few more hours." Arguing, as Temperance had figured out some time ago, made Booth much more insistent. Temperance knew that usually she would argue; a lack of such argument would make Booth suspicious.

"You're going to eat breakfast before we go, Bones. End of story."

"Only if you let me drive."

"Bones, listen. You will eat. You will not drive."

"I am a mature adult, Booth. I'm perfectly capable of knowing when to feed myself."

"No, you aren't. Eat."

Temperance pretended to agree reluctantly, all the while thinking of what to do next. _How the hell am I going to do this? Obviously Helen will recognize me, and obviously Booth will have no choice but to take me off the case. So what am I supposed to do?_

_Calm down, Temperance. Think. How would you go about hiding your involvement in a case?_

_Oh hell, this was a really bad idea. What are you supposed to do to illegally remove all signs of yourself from a case?_

_First things first. I need an alibi. How about Angela?_

Booth was saying something, and Temperance forced herself to focus. "Do you want me to eat with you, Bones?"

Temperance rolled her eyes and answered, "No thanks, Booth. I think I'll go find Angela. Maybe if I talk to her first she'll save me some of the interrogation about our dinner."

"You can hope, but Angela is Angela, after all."

"True. Still, it's worth a try. Give me an hour or two, just in case."

"Alright. Meet me back here by then."

"Right." Booth smiled at her, then walked out her door and towards the entrance to the building.

Temperance smiled back at him until he was well out of sight. _Okay, what do I do? I need Ange to go alone, but I need make it look like I was with her. A receipt in my bag would look fairly convincing. _

She pulled out her cell phone, checked the vicinity for anyone in earshot, then dialed Angela's number.

One ring... two...

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ange. It's Temperance. I need your help."

Temperance heard gum pop, and a pause. Hodgins' voice could be heard in the background. "What sort of help?" Angela asked, then laughed at something Hodgins said.

"Is Hodgins there with you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Make some excuse to leave the room, and walk to my office." Temperance ignored anything else her friend might say and hung up, making preparations.

By the time Angela poked her head in through Temperance's door, Temperance had everything figured out.

"Bren, this had better be good. You made it sound a lot like some bad spy movie."

Temperance winced, but nodded. "It is, in a way. Come in, and shut the door behind you."

Angela entered the room, taking a seat on Temperance's couch. "Alright, this is getting weirder and weirder. Is this some practical joke between you and Booth? 'Cause I'm not laughing."

"This isn't a joke, Angela. It's about the case."

"If you needed help finding something out, you could have dropped the ridiculous secrecy thing. It was really kind of creepy."

"But that's the thing. I don't need help finding something out. I need help covering something up. More specifically, I need to hide my involvement in the case."

Angela sighed, pausing. Her gum was blown into a bubble and popped three times before she answered. "Hon, I'm pretty sure this isn't a good idea."

"Ange, I know that. In fact, it's a terrible idea. But I have no choice. I want to keep Booth ignorant, and I want to preserve his trust for me. So really, what else can I do?"

"Well, I can come up with a whole list." Angela sighed again. "But I know you too well. When your mind is set, there's no way I'm changing it. So fine. What do you want me to do?"

"In fifteen minutes we'll need to head out. Eat breakfast somewhere we would go; use my credit card. My bag is here in my room; put the receipt inside my purse. Make sure Booth doesn't see you until I call and say it's safe."

Angela eyed her cautiously. The Other Temperance had reemerged, and Angela wasn't particularly comfortable with that side of her friend. Still, Angela knew Temperance, and she knew how to calm her down. So she deftly switched the topic a little, removing the James Bond side of the talk. "Sweetie, I have a question. How are you going to repay me?"

Temperance's answer to the question was immediate. "What do you want, Ange?"

"Well, I want to divorce my current husband to marry the love of my life. I want this case to be over. But as for what I want from you..," Angela stopped, thinking carefully.

After a minute, Angela smiled, obviously pleased with herself. "I want you to kiss Booth on the lips within the next four days."

"One year."

"A week."

"One year."

"One month."

"One year."

"Four months, final offer."

"Fine. Not like I care. We've kissed already," Temperance said, only realizing afterwards that it had been rather stupid to admit it.

Angela nearly fainted.

Once she had recovered, she turned back to her friend. "Tell me you just said what I thought you just said. 'Cause I just heard 'we've kissed already.'"

"You heard right," Temperance said, covering her ears.

It was a good idea. Of all the shrieks in history, the one which emitted from Angela's mouth, if not the loudest or longest of all time, was at least the most annoying.

Temperance removed a hand and clamped it over her friend's mouth, stifling some of the noise. "Angela, your imagination is running away with you again. It wasn't romantic in any sense. Caroline forced us to kiss in return for my family celebrating Christmas together at the jail."

"Wet go uf muy mouf."

"No more shrieking?"

"I pwomise."

Temperance let her friend go, reluctantly.

Angela shrieked one last time, then settled back down to watch Temperance. "So, what was it like? Open or closed? Was there tongue?"

"You're getting distracted, Ange. Alibi, covering up past, right? Remember?"

"As if any of those were as important as details on your kiss." Noting Temperance's expression, Angela rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll get going—as long as you promise to tell me all about the kiss and repeat the experience within the next four months."

"Alright. And thanks, Ange. For doing this."

"No problem. But Bren?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you going to do while I'm eating?"

"I've really no idea. I mean, it's not like there is a go-to person on this. I can't exactly ask around—most people go their whole lives without..." Temperance trailed off, thinking. "Hey, Ange?"

"Yes, hon?"

"Where's Hodgins?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It wasn't too hard to find the entomologist. He was leaning over his desk, peering into a microscope with a strange intensity.

Temperance waited until she was right in front of him to interrupt. "Dr. Hodgins?"

Hodgins glanced up, smiling slightly. "Dr. Brennan. You need me for something?"

"Yes, honestly. I'm sorry to bother you. But I'm trying to write my next book, and I'm having trouble figuring out how to write."

"How does this involve me?"

"Well, there is a scene where Kathy, in an attempt to cover up her past to stay on a case, tries to eliminate the evidence of her involvement in the victim's past. Not to be insulting in any way, but since you've done something like that before..."

"You think I can help you. Well, I would like to point a few things out first. One, I've only done it once. Two, I got caught at it, and nearly lost my job. I don't think I'll be much help. Maybe if you just skip that part, or you're vague about it... either way, I'm sorry I can't help."

He returned to looking at the microscope, but was interrupted again.

"No."

The words were fierce, a bit too much so. An inkling of a thought settled in Hodgins' mind, and it scared him. _This isn't just about her book..._

"'No' what?"

"It can't be vague. It has to be real. Real enough that someone alive could actually do it."

Hodgins thought for a while, then answered. "Okay. 'Kathy'," Hodgins signified quotation marks around the name with his fingers, "would have to talk to the victim's family. She would have to remove any photographs involving her, check the records to see if she was recorded as being involved in anyway. That's about it, I think."

"Thank you, Dr. Hodgins. You've been a great help."

Temperance moved to turn, but his voice stopped her. "Dr. Brennan? Answer one question for me. Is this really about your book?"

Temperance considered for a moment, then answered. "Dr. Hodgins, it isn't that I don' respect you, or that I don't trust you. In fact, it is with the utmost respect that I tell you this: you don't want to know. Knowing will get you in trouble—not to mention that right now, you can deny any involvement and be telling the truth. Don't ask, please. And don't tell Booth."

Hodgins took a moment to think as well. "Alright. But Dr. Brennan... be careful."

Temperance could have hugged him, but refrained.

She had a past to erase.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The eyes were watching as Temperance ran to her car.

They always watched. It wasn't like their owner had anything better to do. Everything about this had fascinated the eyes like never before.

For the first part, murder itself! The horrible perfection achieved when all the power was yours and no one could take it away. The blood, pumped out of the dying body as the heart itself slowly destroyed its vessel. And the screaming!

The eyes had never committed a murder before, but they had certainly enjoyed this one. The crunch of bones as a bat swings down, down, always downwards, eliminating anything in its path!

But that wasn't the end of it. There was a certain beauty to this game. The game of cat and mouse that the eyes were playing.

They didn't even know. They assumed this was the worst that could be done, that things would get no worse. They hadn't even seen what the eyes had planned. They didn't even know what was to come.

Oh, the eyes had plans! Such plans. And that was part of the game. Another terrible, wonderful part.

And yet there was another part, the best part. The eyes had to guess at what was coming next, had to adapt with what came. They had to predict the very creatures that were, as a rule, unpredictable. They were doing the impossible—and loving it.

The most important piece in the eyes' game, however, was Temperance Brennan. And what a piece she was! Logical one moment, rushing in with emotion the next. She was a wild card, and the eyes found her amazingly intriguing.

They watched her from their window, noting her walking to her car and preparing to leave.

With anyone else, it could just be a breakfast—or early lunch—break. It could be friends going out to eat.

But not Temperance. She hadn't become the eyes' favorite piece for no reason.

Temperance was alone as she strode to her car—which was odd. Usually she spent all her time flanked with that big lug she called a partner. Or that artist friend of hers—Angela, another fun piece.

And there was a certain purpose to her walk—she was going somewhere, doing something. Something important, in her eyes. Something that would undoubtedly give the eyes some pleasure.

The eyes watched, adjusting the focus of the zoom. She was in her car—there was another thing: usually they used that tank of a van—and looking at a file. Thin, but she gripped it so delicately...

She was looking at the case file.

Attention caught by the beautiful woman in the car, the eyes dragged the zoom in as far as it would go.

Temperance was focused solely on one line—not that the eyes could see it. But it wasn't like the eyes had never seen such a file before. That line, the one that caught her eyes, was probably something about the victim's family.

The eyes had been right. This was interesting.

_What is my favorite little piece doing now? Ah, there—the keys are in the ignition. She's going somewhere for work, but not taking her partner. What is she doing?_

Words entered the eyes' mind, though the eyes had not asked for them. Memories.

The piece suddenly reached a whole new level of interesting.

_She's covering it up, that little rascal. She's going to hide it to stay on the case. _The eyes chuckled. _Perfect._

The eyes would have loved to sit and ponder this development for some while, but they didn't have the time. There was planning to be done—and executed.

But that wouldn't be the only thing executed...

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance parked her car in a long driveway, glancing up at the house.

_Temperance, be rational, _a small part of her brain begged. _This is by far the most stupid thing you've ever done. Just turn back now. Pull out of this driveway, go back to the lab, and tell Booth. Deal with what happens, but don't get further into it._

_Too late. Far, far too late. Ten or twelve lies too late, in fact. _

_That many lies in a single day. Doesn't that say something?_

_Multiple somethings. One of which is that, so long as Booth doesn't find out, none of this will matter. We can all just move on._

_But you know he'll find out! He'll find a picture—the family will slip—something. And then what will we do?_

_I'm here right now to make sure none of that happens. As for the rest, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it._

_There is no bridge. You'll be out in the cold for years, lugging stones about and planning. _

_Do the both of us a favor and shut up. I've never found arguing with myself to be beneficial or gratifying; neither of us can win or lose, and neither of us will change their—our—mind._

Temperance was pleased to note the voice dying away, leaving her the silence of a spring day.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to approach the house, or to even leave the car. She wasn't sure what she would find inside, and the thought was intimidating.

She sighed and swung open her door, feet no longer resting on her pedals. It was better to take things all at once.

Temperance stood, stepping out of her car and shutting the door. Slowly, reluctantly, her legs began to move in the direction of the door.

She was up the driveway and standing on the porch before she even realized it, hand hovering over the doorbell.

Temperance remained there, finger wavering indecisively, for some time. For all her outward composure, a feeling of nausea had settled on her stomach.

The tip of her finger came to rest on the the white circle.

To Temperance, it seemed like hours before she had applied enough pressure to set off the bell. In actuality, it took about five minutes—still an absurd amount of time for a simple action.

Temperance chided herself for being silly. _I have nothing to be afraid of. _

The door swung open quickly, a stark contrast to Temperance's lethargic movement. The creaks of its hinges set Temperance's nerves on edge, but she merely clenched her hands and waited.

It opened to reveal a woman of about sixty, though she looked some five years older. Creases weathered her expressionless face, and a distinct frown line was set about the cheeks. In contrast to the rest of her face, bright blue eyes gazed out cheerfully, as if all her remaining youth was concentrated in those cerulean pools. Brown hair dusted with gray was pulled up into a bun on her head.

Temperance knew who she was immediately.

"Mrs. Crow?"

The woman smiled faintly. "Yes. And you are...?"

"Temperance, Mrs. Crow. Temperance Brennan."

The woman looked at her for a moment. "Tempe? I haven't seen you in sixteen years."

"I know, Mrs. Crow. I wouldn't even be here now—but I'm working." _Mostly. _"I represent the Jeffersonian Institute, and I have something very important to tell you. May I come in?"

"Of course. And please, call me Helen. Just because I'm old enough to be a grandmother now," a deep frown overtook her face, though she continued talking, "my name hasn't changed."

Helen stepped back from the door, allowing Temperance passage.

The house inside was bland and expressionless, much like its owner. Cream colored walls very nearly clashed with white furniture. Temperance took a seat on a small white chair, allowing Helen to rest on the couch opposite it.

Helen chose to stand, however, back straight as an iron-rod and as prim as always. Helen had been very hard on her children—Melanie in specific. In Helen's eyes, no grade was high enough, no clothing covered enough skin. In fact, Helen had been opposed to Melanie ever going to school. If it hadn't been the law, Melanie wouldn't have been allowed to stay educated even up to age sixteen.

Temperance shivered, shifting in her chair. _I'd forgotten how much Helen scared me. Sixteen years later, she still frightens me. I'm so glad they'd moved away by the time I came home—Alan would have physically killed me, and Helen would have smiled her proper little smiles and glared and broken me down from the inside. _

"What is it, Temperance?" Helen glanced down at Temperance in her disapproving way, eyes demanding an answer.

Had it been a time in which she could be happy, she would have smiled. She was hardly the same girl she had been. Helen couldn't break her now—years in the system and years of isolation from other people had taught her to ignore people like Helen.

But it was hardly a time for smiles. This was serious—Melanie's death was not something to smile about.

So Temperance said, with the aura of a true professional, "It concerns the status of Melanie and Cole, Helen."

Helen sighed, finally taking her seat. "You always loved big words, didn't you? Tempe, stop trying and just say it. What happened to my children?"

Temperance leaned back, trying to begin. "I'm sorry I had to tell you this. I know you would rather it be anyone but me—I know you think I'm some messenger of bad tidings, which I'm not. Unfortunately, I can't disprove your idea—I'm bringing bad news."

Helen's face whitened. "Temperance, I'm not sure what you're saying. What happened...?"

"It's Melanie, Helen. Mel... she's dead." Temperance paused, allowing Helen time to respond.

"No, no, no. Melanie can't be dead. She should be home, happily married and having children. She should never have left. You should never have taken her away."

"I didn't, Helen. I didn't take her away from happiness. I know you don't want to hear this, but Mel was happy where she was. Whatever she did, wherever she was, she was happy. If it's any consolation, your daughter loved her life."

Temperance forced herself to keep from cringing. One part of her was yelling at her for making up facts, for falsifying the story. Another—the one which had been changed by Booth—told her that it was a good idea, that eventually it would offer Helen some comfort.

Helen exhaled deeply, a single tear rushing down her cheek. It was soon brushed away, as if Helen wanted it forgotten.

It was the only sign of remorse that Helen ever publicly showed for her daughter's death.

Still, her voice wavered a little when she asked, "How do you know?"

"I work at the Jeffersonian—I'm a forensic anthropologist. Melanie's body was brought in and identified by my team."

"Was it... did she die naturally?"

Temperance lowered her gaze to the floor. "No. Melanie was murdered, Helen. That's why I'm here."

"Why are you here, Temperance? To question me? To ruin my life more?"

"No. I'm here to ask for your cooperation."

"Cooperation? Ms. Brennan, I can't honestly believe you. My daughter died—not that you care—and here you are, asking some favor of me."

"Actually, Mrs. Crow," Temperance said, falling back on the formal name the same way Helen had, "I do care. I care too much."

"You see, the rules say I can't be on this case. They say I know the victim too well—that I should be removed from the case before emotions hinder my unbiased judgment. But I think that such a bias would really help the case. You see, because it is personal, I'm going to be working twice as hard to solve this case. I'm going to find Melanie's killer."

"However, at some point during the investigation—and I happen to know it will be sooner rather than later—you will be called in for questioning. And if you recognized me then, it would look very bad."

Helen placed a hand on her temple, eyes squeezed closed in concentration. "So you're saying that, should we meet, I'm going to have to play along, pretend I don't know you?"

"Pretty much."

Helen answered, eyes still closed. "The door is that way, Temperance."

Temperance clenched her fists. _This isn't working!_ "Why?"

Had Angela been there, she would have noted that the Other Temperance had come out to play.

"Because it is immoral. Because it is wrong. Because Melanie wouldn't have wanted this."

"Mel wouldn't have wanted her killer caught? Mel would want some crazy guy roaming the street, waiting for another victim?"

"You don't know what Melanie wanted," Helen hissed.

"Neither do you." Temperance paused, then continued. "But then again, this isn't about what Melanie wanted, Helen. Melanie didn't want to be dead, but she is. No, this is about what you want. About whether you want Mel's killer caught."

"It isn't, because that isn't justice. It isn't just about me."

"You keep mentioning justice, Helen. Is it just that an innocent woman is killed, and you want her killer to roam free? Is it just that I can't help, when I'm the most motivated?"

"The door is that way," Helen said, with slightly less conviction. Her eyes remained shut.

"Fair enough." Temperance stood, walking to the door. "Just remember, Mrs. Crow. Remember that you let Melanie down. Remember that this case went unsolved because of you."

Temperance placed her hand on the knob and turned it.

Helen's eyes snapped open. "Wait."

Temperance smiled, hand resting gently on the door. "Are you willing to help me?"

"Yes." Helen sighed. "Yes, I am. You've changed a lot, Temperance. I'm not sure if it's a good thing."

_Neither am I,_Temperance noted, deeply disturbed by her own behavior. _Black-mailing family of victims... old family friends on top of it all. _Still, Temperance knew she needed this chance. She lifted her hand and walked back to the chair.

"Okay. So, do you have any pictures involving me, any scrap books?"

"No. Alan burned all the photos when you three left. Nearly took the house down with it." Helen hiccuped, obviously trying not to cry.

"And when we're introduced..."

"Hello, Dr. Brennan. My name is Helen Crow. Pleasure to meet you."

Temperance suddenly couldn't stand to spend another second in the house. "That should be it. And Helen—I know you hate me right now, but you made the right decision."

Temperance walked past the empty cream walls, past the white couches and to the white wooden door, desperate to leave the emotionless house. Her hand clenched the door knob, and she twisted it quickly.

"Temperance?"

She turned once more, reluctant.

"What about Cole?"

"I don't know any more than you do, Mrs. Crow. Officially, he's missing. But from what I know... Cole is dead, Mrs. Crow."

And with that, Temperance was racing out the door. Her pulse raced as she reached the car and slid into it, pulling away.

It was a long drive home.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance fell onto her couch, mind racing.

She had driven back to the lab, called Angela and told her to come back, then come straight to her office. There was nothing befuddling there, nothing that could be confusing to her in the least.

But for some reason, her brain seemed to be tying itself in knots.

Maybe it had been talking about Melanie, or about Cole. Maybe it had been acting so strangely. Maybe it had been coming back to Helen, who she had tried desperately to forget. Maybe it had been some combination of the three.

But either way, Temperance was exhausted.

She rested her head on her pillow, undecided about whether sleep was the best option. Sleep was advisable, certainly, but she might need to think on this a while before it could be achieved.

Still, she decided at last to try. Sleep couldn't hurt her.

Temperance tossed fitfully for some minutes, brain still on over-drive. _What the hell am I doing? Four days ago my life was perfectly normal—or at least as normal as it ever was. And now I'm a wreck._

_Is it my fault? Is this something I brought on myself by being too involved in the case? _

_Or is this something other than the case. Is there something wrong beside the fact that my ex-best friend died._

_Like my ex-best friend dying isn't enough of a reason for me to be a little crazy right now. And to have to hide that connection..._

_I should leave the case. Ange was right. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be lying on this couch thinking about this._

_I want my life back._

Temperance snorted. _Okay, I know I need sleep when the melodrama level goes that high._

It took her another few minutes to get comfortable, and then sleep claimed her for a while.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Temperance stood next to a mirror, watching her reflection._

_Or rather, something quite like her reflection, but not. The mirror-Temperance had the same hair, eyes... but a crafty expression hung about its face. _

_More interesting, however, was the fact that she was somehow handcuffed to the mirror woman._

_Temperance looked at the handcuffs. They were real, metal and cold. There was no way Temperance could get away._

_A movement called her attention back to the mirror. The mirror-Temperance was smiling slyly, silver key dangling from her hand. She smiled, tossing the key up and down._

_Temperance turned to her own hand. There was no key there._

_And suddenly the scenery shifted. Instead of floating in nothingness, they were on land—Temperance was outside in some sort of meadow, while mirror-Temperance was standing in a dark room._

_Temperance glanced at the other room, and suddenly her eyes widened. That was the room, the room where someone always came and killed her..._

_The mirror woman pressed a finger to her lips for silence._

_A knife raised high above the mirror-Temperance's head, swinging down with something like fury. Once, twice, three times it fell._

_And then mirror-Temperance was lying on the floor, dead, and the key was lying three feet away._

_Worse, however, was that Temperance found herself being dragged into the mirror-room. Two eyes watched her carefully, blade shining in the faint light._

_Her hand sank through the mirror like it was no more than water, pulled into the hand of mirror-Temperance. _

_Temperance threw her head back, watching the land behind her. It was so peaceful, so free. Nothing could hurt her there, if she could only get to it._

_But her mirror self was holding her down, dragging her into the trap._

_And there was nothing she could do about it._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Temperance awoke with a jolt, taking a deep gulp of air by instinct. There was no metal band around her wrist, to her immense relief; she was safe in her office.

Temperance found herself sweating slightly, a cold sheen on her face. She wiped it off as delicately as she could with shaking hands.

_I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm not dead._

She breathed a sigh of relief, then rolled off her couch and stood up, yawning.

It was still only about eleven, which meant she had plenty of time left to interview Helen with Booth and catch a late lunch.

Temperance walked to her bathroom to freshen up, cleaning away the sweat and her last memories of the dream.

Booth was in her office when she walked back in. His back was to her, but he knew she was there. She smiled. His acute awareness of her presence had become customary, even wanted.

"Hello, Booth," Temperance said casually, breaking the silence.

"Hi, Bones. I was wondering where you were." Booth spun to face her, smiling.

"No you weren't. You came in, saw that I was sleeping, and decided to leave me alone. Then, because you know me so well, you could tell I would be waking up, so you came here and waited." Temperance folded her arms over her chest and smiled proudly.

"Seems you know me pretty well by now also. Yeah, you'd been looking like you missed some sleep, so I let you nap."

"Probably should have woken me. I was having another one of those dreams," Temperance said, shrugging on a jacket.

"Worse than the others?" Booth asked, pulling on his own jacket.

"Tell you in the car," Temperance replied. "That is, assuming we're going to Mrs. Crow's house."

"'Course we are. But you aren't driving."

Temperance set up idle argument, but she wasn't really paying attention. Instead she was worrying.

_What if Helen slips? What if I slip? How will it feel to have Helen twist my past beyond the point where I can recognize it?_

Temperance followed Booth through the door, fighting for her view on the subject.

_I guess I'm about to find out._

**And this, lovelies, is where the chapter finally ends. However, the author's note is barely beginning, and it's a long one.**

**I'd like to apologize for taking so long. But I do have an excuse, so don't kill me.**

**I wrote this chapter pretty fast at first. Still, my parents closed my word processor twice without saving the chap. After that, however, when I had it finally done, I woke up, stumbled into my bathroom door, and had a great idea. I completely rewrote the chapter.**

**Also, the chapter is ridiculously long. I don't know how many people bothered to finish reading. **

**Awahili, if you're reading this, your almost-hint counts for next chapter, 'k?**

**Anyway, I loved getting all those awesome reviews! 21, my new record. Now, let's see if we can break it, shall we?**

**I have a change to announce. Seeing as my new idea has added tons more plot (and also changed my murderer), I am going to need more time to reach the present than I had planned. So, as of now, we are officially three months away from Temperance's abduction instead of two weeks. Just telling you. **

**One last issue. I'm looking for a beta. I know I already have Rissa, but she isn't on the site and also, she's a friend first and editor second, which means she isn't that critical of my writing. If you would like to beta, drop a note in your review (I don't really check my e-mail, sorry) and we can figure something out.**

**No Flames!**


	7. Author's note

Author's Note-- To start, I am so, so sorry for not posting. Honestly, I have meant to. Thing is that between the writer's strike, the recent plot developments in the show, and my own lack of inspiration, I never got around to it.

Recently I've been working more on original stories, specifically a novel I'm trying to write and several short stories. Unfortunately, this means that my attention has shifted away from fan fiction at the moment. Any future updates of this story will most likely be erratic at best.

I won't delete this story, and I will update every once in a blue moon. However, this story is sort of on partial-hiatus, for which I'm truly sorry.

To anyone who has stuck with me so far, I have to thank you all. Your reviews were brilliant, and I hope they will continue to be whenever I do get around to posting next. Sorry once again.

--A very apologetic Song


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